


Crossing the border of reality

by domino_deshicko



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure & Romance, Detectives, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Mundane Magnus Bane, Psychology, Vampire Alec Lightwood, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-08-20 19:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domino_deshicko/pseuds/domino_deshicko
Summary: To protect his descendants, the ancient vampire has to come to New York, where after his arrival strange murders begin to occur. A private detective from the mundane begins his investigation, and he seems to pick up the trail. But is vampire that person who he is looking for? And what if the detective is an atheist and a skeptic?





	1. Chapter 1

1  
“Purpose of the visit?” the pale man politely interests, trying not to betray his excitement. It is not every day for a vampire who is only thirty years old to get the chance to see the seven hundred-year-old loner who doesn’t belong to any of the clans.

“Security and concealment of the person in the mundane world,” the learned answer which Alec says almost every ten to fifteen years because he has to move from place to place always. He is a little sorry for the young vampire standing opposite him, who, judging by the impression made by the ancient vampire, is unlikely to live up to one hundred years. In the end, immortality is, first of all, the ability to maintain clarity of thought in all situations.

“Have a quiet life,” exhales the inspector, who at the moment doesn’t blush only because of his vampire nature. The ancient nods and heads out to the exit, pondering where and when he will see the head of the clan. This vampire so prudently didn’t meet him himself, as might be expected, but allowed himself to watch a loner at a distance. The loner, who in the modern world could, without any doubt, equates to rarities of the Downworld.

Alec hadn’t been in New York for a long time, and, frankly saying, didn’t like this city. Even knowing how many opportunities such a place could give to a lonely vampire with the beginnings of misanthropy. Paradoxically, it was cities like new York were ideal for someone who avoided social contact at all costs. Crowds of people scurrying in different directions, allow you to get lost and go unnoticed. Such diverse people who come here looking for another life, are hoping to become better versions of themselves. They deceptively consider that their mediocrity is part of the place where they lived, and is not at all part of themselves. Maybe that’s why the last direct descendants of Lightwood live there, the last of his kind, whom he must save. Alexander, immersed in his thoughts, pushes the door, which leads to the spacious hall of the building where his apartment is located. He doesn’t understand why he chose Brooklyn, having rendered a real estate agent catatonic. Still, doubts about the correctness of the decision leave the ancient as soon as Brooklyn laid in front of him in all its contradictory beauty. New York is definitely worth living in. Although he is a little sorry for a cozy house in London, which had to leave a little earlier than planned. The night is almost coming to an end, when the vampire, having finally disassembled his belongings, takes into his hands the folder with the Lightwoods’ file and plunges into recollections at once.  
  
“Isabelle and Maxwell Chesterton,” Ragnor’s raspy voice echoed in the living room of his house in London. It’s deceptively calm, without a trace of excitement and anxiety, “according to my information, they are the last of your kind, Alec.”

Ragnor looks attentively and feels the question that Alexander is afraid to ask. Sigh, and the old warlock decides to voice what both of them already know. “The rest of them were killed during the last ten years,” one more swift look at the interlocutor in a deep armchair, who closed his eyes to force himself to perceive the information as detached and unbiased as possible. “You were right in Madrid; someone intentionally kills all your representatives, someone who is quite knowledgeable and ancient to track all your relatives.”

“Why?” a quiet question has never sounded so loud for Ragnor. For the first time, having so many scattered facts and being one of the best warlocks, he cannot put everything together. There is not a single version that could explain everything, and no one ever has met such a set of evidence, clues, and preparations. “The descendants of Lightwood haven’t been shadowhunters in a long time, they pose no threat to the Downworld, they are ordinary mundanes,” continues Alec.

“You’re flat wrong,” the old warlock disagrees with the vampire, “despite marriages with people, all your descendants have angel blood in their veins. But this blood is practically useless for all the rituals that I know. It cannot be used as a secret ingredient and has no value for those who feed on blood. However, you have to know it better than me”, Ragnor sniffs, understanding that it’s quite difficult to hurt the young man sitting opposite, especially him, especially now. Alec politely smiles: jokes about bloodsuckers stopped annoy him after his first century. “Perhaps someone decided to take revenge on you,” Ragnor says, wincing at the utter stupidity of his words.

“The way they chose is extremely ineffective, and you forgot that we had known about the murders by chance, and ...”, Alexander stops talking. He has been living in the world for a long time: the death of the mundane is always one of the many deaths. But not this time. Yes, sometimes people become random victims of psychopaths. Still, the fact that all of the killed were his descendants means that all these people suffered because of him.

“You could not save them.”

“All of them? Of course no, no one could. But the last two families, I could, I had to, my choice led them to death. It was my fault, Ragnor. Don’t deny it, inaction is no better than a crime, don’t you know it? I am a big boy, and I can live with the consequences of my actions, but I won’t make that mistake twice.”

“They live in New York. Isabelle and Max, the Chestertons adopted them. They have the eldest brother Jace. Jace is a police officer in Newark. Isabel is a medical examiner at the New York Police, and Max is studying at a school in New Jersey. This file I had collected, is a little useful, but I think that is enough for a start. The head of the New York clan will assist you.”  
“Who is in charge now?”

“Raphael Santiago, he is over two hundred, he is smart and dangerous.”

“You’d think a vampire who doesn’t possess such qualities has ever become the head of the clan.”

The raspy laughter of an old magician fills the room.  
  
Alexander is trying to focus on the documents, he has already studied in detail, but common sense and fatigue have prevailed. He needs daytime sleep, he will need strength tomorrow, but today he can rest, Ragnor promised to look after his relatives. The next evening Alec is in a good mood and with the expectation of something pleasant. The vampire from Santiago with donor blood should appear by midnight. Till then, ancient is going to see Isabelle for the first time. Alec enjoys the walk because of warm air rising from the pavement, heated by the autumn sun in a day, and a noise that combines so many different voices and sounds that even the sensitive ear of an experienced vampire cannot recognize all its components. This noise calms some people and energizes others, gives a promise of something magical, and frightens with mysterious danger. The sound of a big city, woven of contradictions, makes colors seem brighter, and it’s hard to disagree. Alec sees Isabelle with a tall attractive guy who is so much in his taste that the vampire, unable to resist, smiles at the reflection of the handsome man in the window. Yes, definitely, his premonition of something pleasant never fools. Alec is walking some distance from a stunning couple, which even New Yorkers, who are used to a variety of people, sometimes cast curious glances. And they should hold their gaze: the embodiment of femininity and sexuality next to the realization of masculinity and danger. Isabelle and this can be argued with absolute certainty, gathered all the best Lightwood genes in herself, starting from thick hair resembling luxurious black orchids of the virgin forests of the Amazon, and ending with a figure with such smooth curves that even Alec, who has been living in the world for a considerable number of years, haven’t seen for a long time.

“Forensic scientist,” for some reason, he recalls inappropriately. Isabelle’s choice of the profession impresses the ancient no less than her beauty. Having such an appearance, she could become anyone, but delving into the corpses in an attempt to establish the cause of death is not at all what you can expect from a beautiful and feminine girl, to whom an amazingly handsome man is leaning right now. A strand of hair the color of liquid mustard honey falls into his eyes; he raises his head, trying to throw off his hair, and make an eyes’ contact with Alexander for a split second. “Jace,” Alec recognizes the man immediately. Isabelle’s eldest brother has amazing color of hair, seductive lips, and eyes of different colors, which clearly adds points to him in the personal rating of the vampire “Sexiest partners that I could have.” Alec sighs and listens to the conversation between Isabelle and her mind-blowing companion, distinguishing without any problems the lovely voice of a young man in the urban noise, who, by the way, is now quite animatedly telling something unpleasant, judging by Miss Chesterton’s frowned face.

“Mike is entirely nuts. Now I understand why no one has been able to work with him for more than a month. He chokes me: it’s impossible, that’s impossible, it’s against the rules, it’s not under the instructions, and in his opinion, I never follow the protocol. I’m curious, is he behaving the same way with his girlfriend? Just imagine: “The thigh movements, you make, go beyond what we previously agreed upon, so you should return to the previously approved postures and the correct number of movements.”

“Mike has reasons to act like that,” the girl interrupts the guy quietly, “and he’s gay.”

“Gay? Seriously? Izzy, he’s the standard of courage and responsibility, is he true for the boys?” the blond brings eyebrows to the bridge of the nose, trying to concoct a suffering physiognomy. “God, I’ve painted in bright colors the nurse’s boobs I met last week. Sister, I won’t be able to work with him even for a month.”

“And I see. Your appetizing straight ass is already afraid of the consequences that are caused by your talkativeness and inability to keep your mouth shut. How many times have I told you, Jace, that you have to watch your mouth? Is it so hard not to share impressions of every girl you like with everyone?”

“Well, firstly, he is not the everyone; he is my partner. Secondly, that nurse is not every girl, I have a date with her tonight, and thirdly, her boobs are cool, not so cool like yours,” Jace lowers his voice, “but also very worthy. What can I do? I love female breasts, especially beautiful female breasts.”

“God, Jace, you are incorrigible,” Isabelle sighs. “Returning to our conversation, Mike is a good person; you’re just going to have to get used to him. He’s the best police officer in the police station, and you can learn a lot from him. Unless, of course, you won’t discuss the nurse’s breasts, which you know not much longer than your partner, in the first days of acquaintance.”

“Do you know that you are the best sister in the world, even though you cut the deads and consider this a normal job for an attractive young woman?”

“And do you know you are the best brother, even though you compare my breasts with the breasts of another girl. And you always get up late, because you come home in the morning. You have an eternal mess in the room, and so set a bad example for Max ...”

“It’s a pity that Mike is gay,” Jace interrupts his sister, “you would have definitely got along very well and become the most grumpy couple in the world. But I still love you, don’t kill me,” adds the handsome blond-haired man, looking at Isabelle with a puppy look. No person in the world can not succumb to him.

But Isabelle Chesterton clearly proves that she is true Lightwood. “I’ll think about it,” she drops a couple of words casually and walks swaying hips to the door leading to the spacious hall. Her unwaveringness warms the ancient’s chest with an unconscious sense of pride.

“Oh, Izzy, you’re going to send me to an early grave,” Jace smiles, simultaneously taking the phone out of his pocket and dialing the number. “Amanda, I’ll pick you up in half an hour,” he informs the girl with beautiful breasts and runs to the underground parking lot of the building to get his car.

Alec stands still until Jace’s car turns around the corner and disappears. “Seriously, the red Chevrolet Camaro ZL 1, this blond is an obvious showoff,” Lightwood smiles at his thoughts, deciding to walk to his new home. He goes looking at shop windows, store signs, and the large windows of restaurants, evaluating passers-by and breathing in their smells. He has not eaten for a long time; hunger makes itself felt with an unpleasant thought, continually spinning on the margins of consciousness and intensifying thirst. But there is nothing that the ancient could not control. There are still two hours left until midnight when Alec enters his apartment and sees Fell standing on the balcony. He doesn’t even turn his head when the vampire opens the door.

“You saw them,” states the old warlock.

“I saw Isabelle and her adoptive brother Jace; Max wasn’t with them. Why didn’t you tell me that Jace is in New York?”  
“Because he wasn’t there when we talked in London. He transferred to Brooklyn two weeks ago. And as I understand it, you appreciated the outstanding appearance of the brave officer of the law?” Ragnor raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I appreciated, especially his appetizing straight ass,” the vampire smiles, what to do? He has such horrible luck with love. “Why are you here, Ragnor? You could have just called me.”

“I have to leave, the trip shouldn’t take much time, but you won’t be able to contact me.”

Alec doesn’t like that kind of conversation.

“I brought you a stone of communication. You can use it once, and I will appear as soon as you call me,” Ragnor continues, pretending that he doesn’t notice the mood change of his vis-a-vis. “Please, could you behave like not to use it,” Ragnor adds sternly, trying to hide his fatherly affection for Alexander behind the pretense of severity. “I have to go. So I lingered, waiting while you admire the beauty of the world around you.”

The old warlock jokes, at last, realizing that long farewells are not intended for people who have known each other for almost seven centuries.

“Ragnor, take care of yourself,” Alexander manages to utter before the door closes behind Fell, leaving the vampire alone with his thoughts.  
  
The vampire meets morning twilight sitting in an armchair with a book in his hands. The evil grin is on his lips. Santiago’s messenger has not come. Well, the next night promises to be very interesting and exciting for Alec. Rafael is repulsively stupid if he decided to play with the ancient. Still, it doesn’t negate the fact that Alexander likes games where, unlike love, luck is always on his side.  



	2. Chapter 2

2

  
Soft light in the restaurant and uncomplicated music relax and stimulate long conversations, in any case, such an effect, according to Magnus, should be produced by the atmosphere in this place. But for some unknown reason, the light annoys, and the music distracts from the interlocutor, not allowing to concentrate on the next story. The woman sitting opposite also doesn't make any effort to the evening they spend together even remotely began to resemble a date. An attractive blonde with brown eyes, in which boredom is now hidden, meets a waiter brought them the order with a deep sigh of relief. Magnus completely agrees with her emotions, but he doesn't want to make Catarina mad, so he decides to make some efforts and justify at least a tiny fraction of his friend's hopes. Apparently, the girl also doesn't want to disappoint a certain person, since she came to meet him. The thought monologue abruptly breaks off, because the charming blond creature sitting opposite gives up eating and declares looking directly into Magnus's eyes:

  
“You know, Magnus, you are very sweet, but let me be honest with you. I am not looking for a long and serious relationship, my coming here is completely and utterly my mother's merit, who, for the reasons she knows only, wants to marry me off. Therefore, I suggest we go different ways after our silent eating. So you can go to your cop lover, and I’ll go home."

  
“Oh,” Magnus exhales, “I see, you have an excellent knowledge of my personal life, but, what a pity, your information is out of date for about six months. I think you should punish your informants for their useless work very hard, or you prefer to call them lovers. Do you want to go home as quickly as possible because you are afraid of your very close friends might start having fun without you? Although, I also would be worried, if I left the prosecutor and the judge in one room. And, as far as I can see, my information is more relevant than ever,” Bane smiles and expects this damn sweet goldilock slaps him in the face, but he is mistaken for the first time in the evening.

  
Anna laughs briskly and holds out his hand:

  
“You are amazing,” she smiles to the man, “just blink, and I'll take you in our pretty tight-knit group of the servants of the law.”

  
"Should I be flattered?"

  
“Of course, you are no longer a police officer, but a private detective,” the woman explains, “but I’m ready to put up with your low social status because I have never met such a cute and terribly dangerous human being. It took you half a day to air all my dirty laundry."

  
“Oh, darling, you weren’t hiding well,” Magnus retorts, “as for the sweet and dangerous, I would advise you to look in the mirror more often, I have never seen so charming and dangerous woman at the same time. Regarding your proposal, I am afraid that I'll have to refuse for some personal reasons: I am not very crazy about such kind of pastime. And when you offer me to join, don't you think that your, um, partners would be against it?"

  
“Oh dear, I'm the head of our little friendly bunch, so I'm the person who makes all decision,” Anna smiles and propose a toast, “to us.”

  
“To us,” Magnus answeres, realizing that a boring date is rapidly developing into friendly gatherings with a pleasant conversationalist who clearly understands what she wants from life in general and from each of its components in particular.  
When you don't have to lie to the person who sits opposite you, communication ceases to be a burden and turns into pleasure. The dark-haired man and fair-skinned pretty woman have a lot in common and even more differences, which makes their conversation full of salt, sometimes exciting and damn interesting.

  
It is about eleven p.m when Magnus, getting his charming companion in a taxi, unsuccessfully tries to control his imagination, which throws him a portion of provocative pictures of how Anna's lovers will meet her. A taxi turns around the corner, and the man decides to go for a walk around the night city to come up with a version of the date that won't disappoint Catarina.

  
He almost realizes that any strategy of fooling his friend is doomed to fail when his hearing plucks stifled wheezing that comes from the opposite side of the street. After a second, Magnus nips in and out of the traffic. The cars blind him, so he can't see the source of the screams. As soon as Magnus crosses the line of street lamp light the alley’s darkness comes down his head, and the man immediately closes his eyes trying to even his breathing and making it deeper. In his brain, a metronome is counting down the twenty seconds that his eyes need to adapt to pitch darkness. Magnus opens one eye: twenty seconds is a luxury he couldn't afford. Step and Magnus tries to listen attentively to the darkness. Another step, but he still hears only loud signals of cars that stand out in the usual city noise. One more, and the street gives in, so the darkness is getting tighter around the body, enveloping in silence. Bane opens his second eye, and the utter blackness is replaced by the grayness, in which Magnus can distinguish a large man in a long cloak, bending over the body. A moment passes, and the stranger raises his head. Two black eyes with a little red spark make a contact with the dark brown ones, whose owner freezes for a second, and then deafening screams and rushes to the man. The cloak's roofs rise in front of Magnus, almost touching his face, but the outstretched hand grabs only air. Magnus follows the man hiding in a brick niche where detective meets the empty space full of sulfur smell. Bane's hands are reaching to the wall in which the man has disappeared, but detective's skills finished with automatism don't allow him to do such stupid thing. The man turns his head, and a brief glance accustomed to gloom falls upon a blank wall. This dark alley has the dead end. Magnus giggles with a nervous laugh when he understands how this situation looks for people whose excited voices he hears: there is a brick wall in front of him, a corpse behind him. Magnus exhales and comes out of the niche with his hands up.

Three pairs of eyes and deathly silence.

  
“You need to call the police and report the murder. Don't touch anything. My name is Magnus Bane, I am a private detective, I’m the witness as you are,” the voice sounds confident, “and if you'll excuse me, I will put my arms down.”

  
It's kind of weird, but the woman was the first one who recovered. She nods slowly, takes out her phone and tells the dispatcher about the incident. The metronome in the head begins to count down the time: five minutes, that's all that he has before the police appear. It's been four minutes and fifteen seconds till the patrol arrives. Cops secure the crime scene and begin to interview witnesses. Detective is standing behind a crime tape ready to testify when he sees a car approaching the crime scene. Two men get out of it: a tall, well-built blond comes first, intercepting a view. But magnus has already understood who follows: he will recognize this car from thousands of others. When the first officer ducks under a crime tape, Magnus involuntarily holds his breath, seeing an attractive tired middle-aged man who stops, as if bumping into an invisible wall, and looks at him incomprehensibly. This look forces Bane to collect the miserable crumbs of self-control and utter a perfectly calm voice:

  
"Good evening, Mike."

  
One second, two, three ...

  
“Detective Marino,” a dear voice coldly tells him, “this is my partner,” a nod to the tall blond behind the crime tape, “detective Chesterton. As I understand, you are the suspicious witness. Well, I think you won’t be surprised by my request to go to the police department and testify."

  
Magnus can only shrug displeasedly. That doesn't leave much to look forward to, but all these actions are the very right, like Mike himself. Detective Marino mentally corrects Magnus himself.

  
Detective Marino, not Mike, handcuffed Magnus and took him to the department, which had become the second home for him while he was a police officer. Magnus is so ashamed to look in the eyes of his former colleagues when he is handcuffed, and he’s so afraid of seeing gazes full of contempt directed at ... at Mike? All cops look at Magnus with sympathy, they nod and smile at him. What the hell? Is this just wishful thinking? But his hearing finally confirms he is supported, especially when the short and a bit plump Ramirez says such a long-forgotten, but so familiar: “Hello, pretty boy. Glad to see you again, don’t give up.”

  
For the first time in his life, Magnus is sitting on the chair for the criminal in the interrogation room, and this strange feeling brings him to his senses. He will have to prove his innocence, knowing how this crime looks for his ex-colleagues. By the time the door opens and Mike’s partner comes in, Magnus knows exactly what he will say to the police.

  
Magnus begins his story from the moment he left the restaurant. He truthfully describes everything he saw and even mentions the poor lighting and unreliability of his evidence. Truth is the only thing that can help him now to prove his innocence. Frankly, this sudden decision was dictated by a long-forgotten sense of confidence that firmly settled in his chest as soon as he crossed the threshold of the police department and was able to force himself to look into the eyes of his colleagues.

  
Jonathan Chesterton nods thoughtfully, trying secretly to take a look more closely at Michael Marino's former partner. The man sitting opposite him looks more like a writer, doctor, or teacher rather than a former policeman. Observant eyes whose color resembling dark noble rauchtopaz or morion don't t irritate or cause concern, rather, they calm and inspire confidence. Asian makes people feel comfortable, he is the man who you want to believe, despite the fact that Jace, as an excellent policeman, cut the habit of judging people by their appearance many years ago.

  
The new Mike's partner thoughts are interrupted by the delicate coughing of the old one.

  
“Do you have other questions, detective?” Magnus asks politely. He doesn't like the newcomer, but testify to Mike would be much harder.

  
Jace hesitates before asking his question. He is afraid to disclose information but wants to test his theory. Long thoughts and doubts aren't for him, so even today he just jumps in with both feet:

  
“Where were you on September tenth from nine to midnight?” Jace stares intently into Magnus's face, waiting for an answer.

“September tenth, this is ...”

“Last Sunday,” the officer explains.

  
Magnus doesn't have time to answer, as the angry Mike bursts into the interrogation room and pushes Jace out, slamming the door behind him. The officer returns for the notebook of his partner, trying not to look at the arrested man, and freezes, standing near the table, as if he had forgotten why he had returned. And then he sighs and slumps into a chair. Two men in the room don't utter a word, although they want to tell each other so much. Mike is waiting for a sign that says to him what to do next, but nothing happens. The man opposite him sits without moving, staring at his hands.

  
“Magnus,” Mike calls hoarsely, “I know you're not a murderer.”

  
Magnus looks up, nods, and smiles, while Mike sees a wet mark on the olive skin. The officer awkwardly stands up and leaves the interrogation room, without noticing that a drop of saltwater traced the same wet mark on his cheek.

  
Magnus spent a night in the detention cell, falling asleep only in the morning. He wakes up from the sound of a key cranked in a keyhole. Ramirez who judging from his appearance was working all night long unlocks the door.

  
“You look like shit, pretty boy,” the cop says with authority inspecting Magnus from head to foot.

  
“Look who's talking,” Magnus snaps without any malice, smiling at the black-haired Brazilian whom he is so glad to see again.

  
“They let you go home, now you are officially the main witness. Mike was a loose cannon, forcing guys to dig up and give him the video from the cameras, and then he watched it every moment time after time. Although I have to admit, you are a fortunate man. If there weren’t a telephone conversation, it would be more difficult for us to prove your innocence," Ramirez explains on the way. "You should thank that red-haired wonder girl. She called the murdered man just at the moment when he was attacked. This conversation coincides with the time when you, like a fucking superman, rushed to the rescue. Now you should sign the papers, and you are free."

  
“Thank you, Sanchez, but I'm a fortunate man because I have met people like you,” Magnus hugs the chubby Brazilian who frightenedly whispers in his ear:

  
“Just don't cry, Mags, I still have to work here. God, when did you become so emotional?"

  
Magnus doesn't have time to answer, because he feels how two thick herculean arms grab him and Ramirez together in a big bear hug. His bones crack and this sound tells Magnus that Johnny Boy is standing directly behind him.

  
“Maaags, I missed you soooo much,” the bear growl of a red-headed big man spreads in the police department, attracting the curious gazes.

  
“Group hugs!” a happy female squeal comes, and a figured brunette squeezes into their embrace. Magnus feels a gentle touch of Isabelle's lips on his cheek and finally relaxes, realizing that last evening's nightmare is over.

  
The motley band is increasing rapidly because other Magnus's friends come up to say hello or just give him a pat on the back. But the disgusting siren wailing destroys the magic of the moment, in any case, this is how the captain’s angry voice is perceived:

  
"Why do I have to see damn chick-flick tender moments in the middle of my department?" Kimberly begins her speech, and the brave servants of the law run helter-skelter like little mice that see the big cat. Fortune that loves Magnus with the most sincere and pure love decides that she has exceeded the plan of saving his beautiful ass from the troubles, so Magnus, who has lost his skill to vanish right under captain’s nose over the past six months, is quite expected to come across her on the way to long-awaited freedom.

  
"Bane!!!" the captain recognizes him and prepares to switch to an ultrasound mode. And Magnus decides to leave this life going out on top, so he smiles, takes a step to meet his death, put his arm around the horror of the police department and gently kisses the monster, who knows no mercy, on the cheek:

  
“Glad to see you, Kimberly,” he says to his former captain and adds, winking happily, “you look great today.”

  
And then, in complete silence, he gracefully waves goodbye and leaves the department, hearing how the roar of the apocalypse is growing behind him. These awful sounds make Magnus run as soon as he realizes what he has just done. He doesn't even have time to take five steps, when Michael catches up with him, grabbing his arm and turning his face to himself. Mike frowns severely, he has already prepared a speech to haul Magnus sharply for his neglect and reckless behavior last night. But instead of the accusatory words, the chef’s scowling face constantly pops into his brain, so Mike throws back his head and laughs so loudly and contagiously that the private detective chimes in with the laughter. A minute later they stand, wiping the tears that came out from laugh.

  
“I know what you've done for me,” Magnus tells Mike, as he catches his breath, “thank you.”

  
“Take care of yourself, Magnus,” Mike asks, and then quietly adds, “I think we'll see you again if Kim doesn't get BOLOs up to arrest you again,” he concludes, smiling.

  
Magnus nods and walks away, leaving the policeman alone with his thoughts and feeling that rapidly crowd out the common sense. A sinking feeling of tenderness fills the heart when Magnus turns around and looks at Mike for a few seconds before getting in the yellow car.

  
Magnus has handled his business up to four in the afternoon, because he had to write a report of the previous case, to talk with Catarina for half an hour and separate the bills. “I need a personal assistant,” the private detective thinks for the hundredth time in the past six months; “I need food,” the stomach tells the brain for the hundredth time in a day. And if the assistant can wait, then the stomach, as long-standing practice shows, is definitely not. So Magnus, who works on an own schedule, resolutely closes the doors of his office and hurries out into the street, where he almost encounters a red-haired young girl. Magnus quickly apologizes, but she shakes her head in displeasure and holds his elbow with thin fingers.

  
“Mr. Bane, I need your help as a private detective. Can we talk?" she asks, still holding his elbow and Magnus recognizes in this girl the witness who testified in his defense.

  
“We can talk in my office,” Magnus suggests, and then carefully takes the girl's hand, returning to the office. He carefully settles his savior in the arm-chair, and sits next to her, not releasing her hand. Magnus clearly sees his visitor is nervous, constantly fiddling with a leather bracelet on her hand, so the detective decides to start with gratitude to calm her, but doesn't have time:

  
“My name is Clarissa Garroway, I’m close friend of Ian, we study, studied at the art school, he called me when ...” and a pause hangs in the air, Magnus wants to help, but Clarissa doesn’t let him do this, continuing her story, “when all of this happened. Ian described the creature that killed him. It was Prince of Darkness, but police don't believe me, they think I'm crazy."

  
“Clarissa,” Magnus carefully tries to break into the girl’s monologue, but she interrupts him again:

  
“Please, Mr. Bain, leave this tone, I have not lost my mind, you were there, you saw everything with your eyes.”

  
“I saw something,” Magnus begins slowly, as unpleasant memories of that night come to life in his head. “Just tell me everything in order, from the very beginning, and then we'll think together, okay?”

  
The girl nods and begins her story:

  
"As I said, Ian and I study together, yesterday he had to take the sketches of his drawings to the club where he worked as a bartender. He wanted to change his working place a little. I called him about eleven p.m. to ask to cover for me tomorrow. Ian agreed, and then a gust of wind blow off the drawings from his hands and flung them to that dead-end. I remember that he cursed and wanted to hang up, but then he sharply lowered his voice and whispered that his drawings were lying at the feet of a tall man in a long dark cloak, which made him look like a vampire. Ian was delighted, he even wanted to take a selfie with him. He was saying goodbye to me when that vampire attacked him, I heard Ian scream, and then there was silence ..."

  
“Clarissa, did you tell this to the police?”

  
“Yes, but they don’t believe that it was a vampire, despite the fact that Ian's blood has been drained. Prince of Darkness took his blood, and Ian isn't the only victim. A dock worker was also killed last Sunday, there wasn't a little drop of blood in his body."

  
“Wait, wait, how the hell do you know that police never reveals details of the cases.”

  
“Everyone knows that now, Mr. Bane. All newspapers wrote about this crime today, this news is discussed in all social networks."

  
Magnus groaned, poor Mike. Investigating crimes committed by insane people digging on vampires' cult is no picnic, but doing it under the intense scrutiny of the press and the public, who wants only to put into a funk ... Definitely, hard days for his colleagues just have begun.

  
“You are a private detective, Mr. Bane, you must help me, I have money, I will pay.”

  
“No, Clarissa, I'm not going to prevent the police work. Professionals are working with this case, they are the best, just trust me. Police will deal with this crime and will definitely find the murderer."

  
“They will not find it, because they are not looking for the right person.”

  
Magnus inappropriately recalls the wall in which the killer disappeared. A little worm of doubt gnaws at him, whispering that Clarissa might be right, besides, he hadn't had a real case for a long time, and the criminal mocked him, having disappeared right in front of him.

  
The girl looks at him with hope but Magnus remembers very well the forgotten warm feeling in his chest when Mike laughed with him. He shouldn't take a case that threatens to emerge as a conflict of interest. His relations with colleagues finally began to improve.

  
“No, Clarissa, I cannot help you. I am grateful for your testimony, but I won't investigate this case. You can refer to any other private detective."

  
Magnus expects tantrums, tears, curses, even slaps, but nothing happens. The woman who saved him and whom he refused to help takes a pen from his table without a single word and writes down the number on a piece of paper.

  
“If you suddenly change your mind, Mr. Bane, then you will have my number. Thank you for listening,” she says before leaving the detective alone with his doubts.

  
Autumn sunlights sneak into a dark room, glide above the papers scattered on the table, and bumps into the luminous figures of an electronic clock. Further, where the rays cannot get through, a tired man sits, clutching his head with his hands. Obsessive images, ideas, and thoughts are tearing Magnus apart: his rational part knows that Clarisse’s refusal was the right decision, his heart softly whispers that Magnus was right when he didn't take over the investigation that would anger his ex-partner. But his instincts break this sense of correctness by throwing it into a blank brick wall, in which the tall man in a long dark cloak disappeared. Prince of Darkness.

  
Numbers 19:01 are replaced by 19:02 at the moment when the private detective, having failed to reduce all his suggestions to a common denominator, grabs his jacket and leaves the office, not noticing how the last ray of the setting sun goes out and the room is plunged into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

3

  
Vampires don’t like sunlight, and Alexander likes darkness. Here and now, lying on the bed, he is in no hurry, allowing himself to enjoy zero of light. In today’s world, the light follows you everywhere; there is no hiding from him: bright, flashy billboards, street lamps, a dazzle of headlights, neon lights of shop windows. With every passing decade, the mysterious darkness of the night is becoming thinner and thinner, yields its right, and light shamelessly uses it, amplifying the fears of the scary night blackness and forcing people to hate full of secrets darkness. Blinded by the light, people slaughter Hecate, as if she is the lowest of scoundrels, and don’t notice her bewitching beauty. Sometimes it seems to him that he can lay like that forever. That’s why when such thoughts come into his mind the ancient realizes it’s time to pick himself up and emerge from the darkness.

The shower is a lousy distraction when your throat is sore, but the moment when the thirst will become unbearable is still far away. Alexander’s irritation after the shower intensifies when he remembers who caused it, and a knock on the door increases his discontent to an alarming level. The head of the New York vampire clan is outside the door, and his long face amuses the ancient. The night becomes more interesting when Raphael, after the silent invitation of Alec, enters the room, exuding confidence for everyone except the owner, who definitely feels the tension. The ancient isn’t going to ease Raphael’s situation, so he invites the thane to sit down without a single word and begins to look at the vampire, whose games can cost a lot, not only to him personally but to the clan as a whole. The current leader of vampires doesn’t have a classical beauty, but even for the ancient, he is something to look at. And Alexander gazes steadily into Raphael’s eyes, they are of the usual brown color, but there is something different in them, something that Alec cannot grasp.

“My clan and I wish to offer our sincere apologies,” Raphael’s voice, softly rolling the consonants, fills the lounge. “I sincerely regret that you were inconvenienced.”

Pause, Raphael took his step and now he’s expecting Alec’s one. Time counts down the seconds, but the ancient remains silent, allowing the tension between two vampires to peak in a dark room. Alexander is good at games, so Raphael can’t just say sorry.

“I think that I should clear things up as much as possible,” the head of the clan is not ready to play with Alec today, he needs help so that the ancient will pitch a shutout. It can be annoying, it can infuriate, but all Raphael can do now is mitigate the effects and hope that the hunter’s instincts will be stronger than the desire to get even with him.

“A mundane was killed yesterday. According to the press, this is the second murder in a week. Both victims were drained of blood, the media scares citizens with vampire tales, but my sources indicate that it was a demon,” there is no reaction from the ex-hunter, or maybe his instincts sleep so soundly that they can not be woken up. Alec has been hunting demons and Downworlders for twenty-four years; for more than seven centuries he has been one of them. The conclusion is almost obvious, but Raphael decides to go all the way:

“My courier went to you yesterday, the smell of blood and sulfur drew him to that dead end. He described the situation, and I decided to recall him. My clan never takes a risk, Lightwood, the police reinforced patrols and checked all suspicious people. I don’t think that my messenger could provide a plausible explanation for his suitcase was being full of donor blood, especially considering that the victim was drained like a cup of tea an hour earlier. I brought you a suitcase with donated blood today personally,” Raphael clams up, expecting Alec finally deign to break his silence, but there is no word, so he continues:

“This is a cryptophone,” Raphael says and puts on a coffee table a smartphone that looks quite usual. “All the vampires of my clan use only such devices. I entered my number into this cryptophone, password 0000, I highly recommend you change it. We never use regular phones. Clan security stands at the top of the list of the main priorities.”

Raphael puts it all out on the table, the game is almost played, but the ancient is in no hurry to answer. Alec slowly rises from the couch, keeping his eyes glued on the man sitting opposite, and leisurely gets too close to the vampire. Alexander looms over his guest and looks down at him, clearly dominating. Thane forces himself to meet the ancient’s gaze. Raphael wants to get up but remains to sit without a single move. These eyes in front of him impose their will, and they have no color: the darkness of the pupil has filled the iris. This gloom gets under the skin, flows through the body, flooding the mind, in which someone’s else desire pulsates with fiery flashes. And the powerful head of the clan fulfills this desire, drops his eyes to the floor.

“I am glad we cleared that up,” Alexander grins, this is almost too easy.

“There is another thing that I would like to discuss,” Raphael asks.

The ancient took him down a peg, he can only beg from now on. It hurts, so his lips twist, he grimaces with distaste. He can’t help himself, and now he cannot hide his disgust and hatred.

“Enough with this tone, you don’t need to beg me,” Alec looks closely into the face of the vampire whom he has beaten to his knees. “A submission is just a one-time event; we have dotted the I’s and crossed the T’s. Your answers completely satisfied me, but I wanted to make sure.”

Raphael reluctantly nods, realizing that in such a situation he would have acted the same way. The self-loathing doesn’t disappear but is slightly dull. He will still have time to lick the wounds from a severe blow to his ego.

“I need some help with a case related to mundane murders. If demons are those who killed them, then I may need your advice. I know that you care about the security of a few mundanes. My people, with your permission, can take care of them while you are busy. Let me assure you once more that none of my people will harm them.”

The corners of Alec’s lips go up just a bit because the barely noticeable sarcasm that shines through the last words of the vampire is the sign to the ancient that Santiago has wholly regained his self-control and poisonous gloomy mood.

“I think I could well be your consultant,” Alec replies indifferently. “Please give my thanks to your people. I get the help of your clan and promise to assist in return.”

Raphael breathes a sigh of relief: the angry ancient is more dangerous than hundreds of demons. After today’s conversation, Alec didn’t become an ally, but he didn’t become an enemy either. So, now he can entirely devote himself to resolving the problematic situation with the mundane murders.

Two vampires walk to the crime scene without saying a word. But this time prolonged silence doesn’t press on the eardrums with deafening quietness but allows each of them to get lost in the flow of thoughts at least for a while.

This dead end for people going about their business has no difference from the hundreds of others scattered here and there throughout the city. Two tall men standing in a brick niche are securely hidden from the eyes of curious passersby. The smell of blood is faint, but Alexander clearly sees that the trace ends between old bricks. Step, and he can discern a pentagram on one of the old bricks. Carefully, barely touching, Alec’s fingers are following the lines so much hated by the ancient. The drawing is simple but unusual, the intersection of lines is fascinating, forming several images, each of which attracts the eye, pulls into the depths of darkness.

“Go on the hell up there,” Raphael shouts. Alexander shudders, and then clinging to the protruding bricks, he climbs up and appears on the roof in a few seconds. The head is already there, looking down, gracefully interlacing Spanish expressions that are meant to reflect his mental state. Alec is fluent in Spanish, but the swearing he knew is far from Raphael’s highly artistic curses. The ancient cautiously looks down, trying to understand what was the reason why his companion disgorged a unique specimen of Spanish literature. An ordinary lookie-loo from the mundane takes pictures of the crime scene to impress his friends on social networks, nothing remarkable.

“Are you so afraid of they might see you near the crime scene? What’s going on with you?” the question is more than logical, because the behavior of the head of the clan, at least, discourages.

“That’s fucking Magnus Bane,” Raphael spits the man’s name.

"So?" Alec still doesn’t understand. “Does he know you?”

“He is the reason my clan was forced to change our hideout twice in seven years. He is the curse of my life, the poison of my existence. Six months I heard nothing about him, what the hell is he sniffing around here?” Raphael is practically torn up with anger and rage.

Another flash glance down from Alexander. The man, holding a flashlight in his teeth, methodically clears dried blood from cracks between bricks in a bag for evidence.

“Okay, I saw everything I need. Let us proceed this way: you’ll go to the first victim crime scene. I’m going to need some photos and anything you can get on the victim. And I’ll go home and try to deal with this whole thing.”

Raphael pulls himself up and nods, looking down. Following his gaze, Alexander sees how the man who could drive the head of the clan to the edge of the reason is hailing a taxi down, and then he suddenly turns his head and looks directly at him. This mundane cannot see the ancient, vampire is sure of this, but for some reason, the persistent feeling that Bane is looking straight into his eyes doesn’t go anywhere. A moment later, the man below turns his head away and gets into the car.

“Watch out for Magnus Bane, Lightwood. He is more than he seems. He’s a powerful enemy,” Raphael studies Alec’s face, but the ancient just shrugs.

“Tomorrow night. My place,” Alec says before turns around and leaves.

  
“Izzy!” Bane calls his friend. “I need your professional help.”

Magnus has not yet taken a decision; the dark dead-end only increased the already great fears associated with this matter. Judging by the pentagram, the crime looked like a ritual, but if those brown pieces he scraped from the bricks’ joints were Ian’s blood, then Clarissa could be right. On the other hand, vampires don’t seem to be able to walk through walls. “_First of all, I need to verify that it is Yen’s blood, and then make a decision._” It’s strange, but even this rational thought can’t help him calm down at all.

“I have not been here in so long,” Magnus is familiar with the surroundings, but tiny changes catch his eyes now and then, and each of them whispers to him: “You are no longer belong to this place, you are a stranger.” The only constant among all of these innovations hurries to him in impossibly high heels. Her smile gets all his gloomy thoughts out, and when she appears, the whisper fades and takes a back seat. Magnus relaxes: a home is not about things, home is about people.

“Mags, you look so shitty,” Isabelle states categorically, looks at him from top to toe, “of course, not as bad as this morning, but you still rank below the main handsome of the police station.”

“Is it all so bad?” the ex-main handsome of the police station picturesquely presses his hand to his heart and covers his eyes, the immense sorrow from the loss of his rank written in every line of his body. “Well, well,” the forensic expert consoles, demonstrating the same acting abilities, “we will fix it. No one can take their eyes off you. Although I should refuse to help you, only calls and short messages for six months straight, you never met me. You’re fortunate to have such an understanding friend like me.”

“I completely agree with you, and I am ready to beg forgiveness by all means. But now I need your professional help.”

“In other words, Magnus Bane, you think that I am not an expert in the field of beauty and style,” and now Isabelle expressively makes a hand gesture designed to reflect the entire depth of pain from the inexpiable insult.

“In the field of beauty and style, you are a guru,” Magnus answers, noticing a sly look at him through long lashes.

“Oh you, old downy bird!”

“For fear of God, Isabelle, I can tell you the only truth.”

His friend has such an infectious laugh that Magnus can’t help but join her.

“Okay, tell me what is going on with you, and why do you need my professional help.”

“Izzy, can you tell if this is blood or not?” Magnus hands her the evidence bag.

“No problem,” Isabelle answers, and the magic begins.

She pours a little brown substance into a test tube and adds a little transparent liquid, apparently hydrogen peroxide. A shallow foam begins to form on the surface, and Isabelle, smiling with satisfaction, reaches a verdict:

“It’s definitely blood, Magnus. May I ask where and why?” The medical examiner doesn’t finish sentences, but these two can dispense with words.

“It’s blood from yesterday’s murder place,” Magnus sighs. “I’m not sure, Izzy, should I meddle in affairs? Can you determine whose blood is it? More specifically, can you determine this is Ian’s blood?”

“I can, but not legally. What the hell are you trying to get yourself into, Mags?”

“I don’t know what to do. I think, ponder, consider different options, but I can’t figure out what decision I should make.”

"Can you tell me?"

But Magnus only shakes his head sadly:

"Maybe later."

“What do you want for yourself?”

“Sleep, I’ve been on our feet for almost twenty-four hours.”

Isabelle can’t help but smile warmly, her friend frowns like a child, and it looks so cute, so she wants to wrap him in a blanket and give him a cup of hot chocolate.

“If you don’t know what you want, try to imagine how a person whom you aspire to be like would act if he were you. As for the answers to your questions: I cannot give out information on the police cases, I’m sorry.”

Magnus nods, and decides to trust his instincts: he knows what his father would do.

“I have to call someone, Izzy, I’ll be back soon,” Magnus says and disappears outside the door. In a cozy nook private detective to dial the number of the person who has given him a difficult choice.

“Good evening, Clarissa,” he begins confidently, “this is Magnus Bane, a private detective. And if you haven’t gone to another detective agency, I’d like to offer my services.”

“Clary, Mr. Bane, call me Clary. I’m glad you called, and I still need your help.”

A sense of relief fall in torrential downpours washing away all his doubts and fears — Magnus made the right decision.

“So, Clary, you’re my client now, and I officially take up your case. We can meet at my office tomorrow, meanwhile, could you send me the information you know about Ian, I’ll text you the address. And, please, call me Magnus.”

"Thanks, Magnus. I will. See you tomorrow,” Clarissa says goodbye, and her heart bounds with joy because she spent the last five hours waiting for a call. Something inside tells her that Magnus was the right person to help. And she hopes that wasn’t a mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

4

“Izzy, I’m done, ooh. Hi, Detective Marino’s new partner. Jonathan Chesterton, if I’m not mistaken. We saw each other in the interrogation room,” Magnus holds out his hand, and the tall blond shakes it with enthusiasm.

“Look who’s here! Magnus Bane in the flesh. But I didn’t know that you were friends with my sister. So I’m glad to see you in a different situation. By the way, if you call sis Izzy, I don’t mind if you call me Jace. And since we are friends and brothers forever,” Jace forcefully taps Magnus on his shoulder and ends with an exaggerated wink, “tell me everything about your ex-partner.”

“Are you sure Jace’s your brother, Izzy?” Magnus turns to Isabelle, takes off the hand of his new friend&bro.

“I’m not sure, Mags, but my parents insist on this fact, so it’s out of my hands,” Isabelle’s voice full of sadness contrasts sharply with her happy face.

“Come on,” Jace, still not offended, continues to get in his way, “Mags, buddy, tell me everything you know about Mike.”

“No problem,” Magnus suddenly agrees, “if you stop calling me Mags.”

“You have my police officer word,” Jace says proudly.

“You,” Magnus begins to tell aspirating, “are the men who’d Mike eat for breakfast. And also ...”

“Having fun?” judging by the tone of his voice, Mike doesn’t like that his two partners, former and current, discuss his person.

Magnus exhales briefly: the talking will be tough.

“Dr. Chesterton, why are there strangers in your room?” Mike inquires of the forensic expert, while hard staring on his ex-partner.

“Because I investigate this case,” Magnus replies for his friend. “I came here at my client request, whom I represent.”

“And since when can private detectives hire themselves?” The police officer mockingly asks his ex-partner.

And now, Magnus doesn’t have time to answer the question.

“Oh my God, call everybody, Michael Marino can joke,” Jace yells, ignoring Isabelle’s warning glance and the murderous one from Magnus.

“Are you sure Jace’s your brother, Izzy?” asks Mike the breathless girl who is trying her best to maintain a serious expression, while the corners of her lips are inevitably going up, so her smile sold her out. At this moment, Magnus doesn’t feel better: the poor guy is biting his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to resist laughing. All their efforts go up in smoke when Jace exclaims resentfully:

“Et tu, Brute?! Now it’s clear why you, Magnus, have been able to work with him for so long.”

“Can any of you explain to me why you two are choking with laughter, and Jace cosplays Julius Caesar?”

“It’s that Jace finally got to know the real M&M’s,” Isabelle explains, wiping away the tears.

“I said the same joke like you did, again,” Mike had a revelation.

“Word for word,” Magnus confirms, and Mike groans in disappointment.

“Can any of you explain to me,” Jace begins, but Mike immediately breaks him off:

“No, Jace, don’t repeat my phrases, not you.”

Jace grumbles resentfully, and although Mike is adamant, he decides to clarify something.

“I just wanted to ask why sis mentioned colored chocolates.”

“I hope you know how M&M’s stands for?” Magnus decides to clarify the situation because his abs can not only handle a new dose of laughter, but Jace shakes his head, embarrassed.

“M&M’s is launched by Mars, which was founded by Mars and Murrie. Strictly speaking, the company was founded by Frank Mars, and his son Forrest, who had a difficult relationship with his father. So Frank sent him to the UK providing funds. And when Forrest returned, he founded M&M Limited with Bruce Murray in Newark. Double M in honor of the last name Mars and the last name Murrie. Then both companies merged.”

“But you are Bane, not Maine,” Jace objects.

“Is he always a slow learner?” Magnus asks Mike, but he just throws up his hands:

“You have no idea. Do you know where he transferred from?”

Magnus looks at Jace who’s turning red, and he’s starting to get:

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” Mike says, happy as a clam, “he worked in Newark until he had transferred to us.”

“My poor abs,” Magnus thinks before a new fit of laughter makes him doubled up.

“Magnus and Michael, Jace. M&M’s because they are Magnus and Michael. And finally, learn the history of New Jersey, you had been living there for almost twenty years. Don’t embarrass me in front of my colleagues anymore,” Isabelle asks her older brother.

“Stop making fun of me,” Jace pleads, but the trinity has reunited so nothing can stop it. Therefore, Jace decides to bet the ranch:

“So each of you has your own color, don’t you?”

“Well, now I see you were trained in the police academy, Jonathan,” Magnus nods in approval.

“Yeah,” Jace perks up, “let me guess. Well, you, of course, are red, because you obviously aren’t known for your modesty, and cynicism is certainly one thing you’re not lacking. But Mike, is he a yellow one? Izzy, why?” the blond man makes a shout as his sister smacks him upside the head.

“You say Mike’s stupid.”

“What a big deal! Who says this can’t be fun? I knew right away that Mike was Mr. Blue cause he’s the coolest guy in the world.”

“Don’t mind me, boys. Is it okay that I’m here?” Mike asks with a facade of indifference. “Maybe we will return to the very beginning of our conversation? So, Bane, who hired you?”

“This is confidential information, but I could share some thoughts with you if you agree to share some information.”

“Do you offer to work together?” Mike raises a few eyebrows.

Magnus nods slowly.

“Okay, I agree. We can start sharing information right here, or do you want to go somewhere?” The officer asks calmly.

“Why is it so easy? Where are all lectures and sermons? Wait, wouldn’t you scold me or say it’s none of my business. Damn it, Mike, I’ve already prepared a brilliant speech in my defense.”

“Has this ever worked? And you can take your speech and shove it up your ass. Media dramatizes things so that Stephen King might have envied. Superiors are putting pressure on Kimberly, and she drew a moving illustration of what she would do with me. And you know, compared to her, Ramsay Bolton is an innocent angel, so any help would be appreciated. I hope you are not out of practice. What?”

“Who’s Ramsey Bolton?” Jace asks cautiously.

“Jesus, Magnus, let’s get out of here before I increase the number of corpses in this room,” Mike frowns.

“Come on, Michael, it’s not that bad. He didn’t ask who Stephen King was. I think he is not hopeless at all.”

“I don’t want to check it. Izzy, take your brother with you and make him watch the  _ Game of Thrones _ . That’s an order.”

“Jace, you’re off the clock, be a good boy, and leave me alone. Isabelle, go home,” Mike almost begs, but he can do nothing. Today the score is three to one. Magnus, who is a traitor, supports the idea of the four-way discussion. So they come into the Chinese restaurant Magnus recommended, and they look like a large and almost real friendly bunch.

The place where Magnus brought his friends is not much different from the ordinary Chinese eatery: wooden tables stand very close to each other, black-and-white photos of China in the thirties or forties hang on the walls painted warm yellow color. Perhaps, the photos are the only interior detail that helps you to associate this place with Asia. The restaurant doesn’t flabbergast guests with its elegant atmosphere, doesn’t fell pleasantly on visitors’ ears with the delicate music, doesn’t seduce with gentle aromas of expensive dishes. This is a completely different place. There are only sturdy tables and reliable chairs; there is no tablecloth or expensive cutlery; there is a muffled multilingual hubbub instead of music. Sometimes the cheerful laughter of a slightly drunk Chinese gang becomes louder, and a deafening shout of a harsh chef calls to order. Nobody can disobey this man because his muscular arms and formidable appearance can bring around any of an up-jumped visitor. It is this man who doesn’t let the huge meat cleaver out of his hands is responsible for the amazing odor that stuns every guest who crossed the threshold. A blend of smells meets guests, enveloping and getting under the skin; it works up an appetite and triggers salivation. Spicy and piquant ginger weaves with mint and anise notes of fennel, which is replaced by a tart aroma of cloves, drowning in the sweet-fragrant charm of nutmeg. Accustomed to this great variety Magnus can discern in this bouquet the fragrances of the bitter-peppery black caraway seeds and the harsh contradictory coriander, odors of the sweet tenderness of lily buds and the sparkling freshness of anise, flavors of the unusual for European angelica root or baizhi root, smells of the sharp camphor black cardamom and the milder Siamese, aromas of the cinnamon cassia and the white ground pepper, of the garlic and the shallots, and green onions, of the hot rice vinegar and the brown wet cane sugar, and the king of all spices — red Sichuan pepper, whose taste can not be described, it should be tasted to fall in love once and for all.

When all four have paid respect to excellent Chinese cuisine, Magnus puts it all out on the table.

“I was hired by Clarissa Garroway; she’s Ian’s close friend, was. Ian was attacked when they were talking on the phone. He saw the attacker and said the killer looked like a vampire. This is consistent with what I saw. That man in the dead-end: tall, in a dark cloak, I couldn’t see his face. He was moving too fast and then disappeared into the wall.”

“What do you mean, he had disappeared into the wall?” Mike asks sarcastically.

“Would you like me to give you a dictionary definition of a word, Michael? I rushed after him but banged against a brick wall. Today I was there and found blood between the bricks of this niche. And I can tell you with a hundred percent certainty that this is Ian’s blood. A pentagram is also drawn there, and it is rather unusual ...”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes, Jace, there was something else,” Bane hesitates but decides to tell the truth. “When I was standing on the road flagging a taxi down, I felt a look, as if someone was studying me from somewhere above, It was pretty dark, again, so I didn’t see anything, again.”

“So, Mags, let’s take stock, shall we,” begins Marino, “You were hired by a little girl. She is out of wits because of her close friend’s death, and moreover, due to her barrenness of intellect, she believes that a vampire killed her friend. You support this version because you saw someone you couldn’t catch. Oh yes, how could I forget, there is still a mysterious look that you felt. Would you remind me who of the two of us is the main materialist?”

“Okay, I admit, you make it sound so ridiculous,” Magnus sighs contritely, “Izzy, what do you say?”

“Both bodies have identical injuries, both are drained of blood. There was no blood left in Peter Brooks’s body, as for Ian Dalton’s body, it is safe to say that the killer didn’t pump out all the blood. It can be assumed he was interrupted, it was most likely you, Mags.”

“Still don’t want to admit it was a vampire?” Bane trying to joke, but only makes Mike angry.

“It was planned you’d help me, Magnus, and not pose as Stephanie Meyer.”

“You’re right,” Magnus agrees, deciding to push the thought of vampires to the back of his mind, though that seems the only acceptable explanation for the inconsistencies.

“The pentagram on the wall is rather unusual, of course, it could have appeared there before the murder and in general may not be connected with this crime at all, but I think it a very interesting coincidence. I repeat that the man was moving very fast. Maybe he was addicted to speed or something like that. He disappeared from the dead end, and it was rather difficult to do, hell, it was impossible. I was in a niche two seconds after him or less. There is the only way from this dead-end, and this is the way up. It can be assumed that our non-vampire used a cable, but his hands should have been torn from such acceleration. I didn’t see his face, but there was definitely nothing on the cloak for what he could attach something. Yes, and about his speed, if he really had moved up, I would have heard the whistle of a rope or his heavy breathing, or the sounds of a motor that twisted a cable, or the clapping of a cloak fabric during a sharp take-off. Add blood from a niche. Bloodless body and there was no single drop of blood on the road to the wall. The blood I scraped was not on the bricks. It was in the joins between the bricks. I have no idea how it got there. Well, the main difficulty is: the killer had to pump blood, I didn’t notice anything like that. I know what you want to say, Mike. It was dark, it’s true, but do you really think that I couldn’t see the six-liter tank and the pump.”

Magnus pauses, trying to catch her breath, and looks at his ex-colleagues. Mike sits, mesmerizing with his eyes the traditional Chinese teacup as if a richly amber surface of Da Hong Pao can give him an answer. Isabelle stares at her plate turning her napkin over and over in her hands, and only Jace is looking right into Bane’s eyes, with a wry smile:

“It must be noted that you are the first person in my life who paints in such bright colors we’re screwed. It seems that the only option is to go for a wooden stake, or what else things can kill bloodsuckers.”

“He is a human, Jace!” Mike stops looking at the teacup and now stares at his partner without blinking.

“Whatever you say, boss. But judging from the story, he is a very strange human.”

“Let’s discuss victimology,” Magnus suggests, trying to defuse the situation, “tell me about the first victim. Who is he? What was he doing? Can we find a pattern in crimes?”

“Peter Brooks, forty-eight years old, white. He worked in the docks all his life. Divorced, has a daughter but didn’t keep in contact with her. His wife got a divorce ten years ago because her husband began to abuse alcohol. According to neighbors, it was getting worse and worse. His colleagues confirmed this testimony. The immediate superiors were gonna fire him many times, but they felt sorry for his longevity. He was found in his home, completely bloodless. The neighbors found the body on the morning of September eleventh. According to the forensics, he was killed on the evening of a tenth between the hours of eight to twelve. Nothing was stolen from the house; to be honest, there was nothing to steal. He had neither enemies nor friends. Neighbors couldn’t name even his drinking partners. He always drank quietly, alone, without drunk and disorderly. There are no pentagrams on the walls of the house or inside it.”

Jace lays his notebook aside and throws up your hands, acknowledging with regret his powerlessness: nothing remarkable, not a single clue.

“Maybe, Ian?” Magnus asks with hope, but Mike only purses your lips.

“Ian Dalton, twenty-four years old, white. He studied at an art school, moonlighting as a bartender in a pretty lousy club, was fond of mysticism, he had no girlfriend but many friends, he didn’t make any enemies. Everyone describes him as a good guy, fun, and talented. The only thing to hold onto is his otherworldly powers’ passion: he actively studied vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and other supernatural crap. By the way, your client is neck-deep in mystical shit,” Mike can’t help cause the quip seemed too good to pass up. Wild punch. Magnus ignores the jibe.

“By the way, speaking of mystique,” Jace is as bold as brass, so he ignores the steely glance of his partner, “do they have fortune cookie? You wouldn’t believe I have never tasted them.”

Magnus shrugs: he has no interest in stupid predictions, but he decides to try. However, he is sure that the Chinese restaurant serving his favorite real Formosa Dong Ding Tea, whose golden yellow color and spicy aroma captivates on the first try, is not likely to be wasted itself on dessert intended exclusively for foreigners. Magnus calls the waiter and inquires for the fortune cookie. The waiter stares at him in mute amazement cause this is the first time this regular visitor asks to bring something like that, and then he shakes his head.

“You’re not lucky, Jace,” Magnus sums up and then notices the restaurant owner heading to their table. They have known each other for more than five years, so Magnus is incredibly ashamed that he could offend this goodhearted man with his Americanized behavior. Why did he have to ask for cookies that began to be associated with China only during the Second World War; moreover, he did it in the authentic Chinese restaurant. Great job!

“Mr. Bane,” Mr. Liang looks into his eyes. “Usually we don’t make such desserts, but today my mother has baked them. We have exactly four left. I am glad that fate brought you to my restaurant. Fortune cookie will be brought to you in a minute.”

The old Chinese man gives four friends a searching look and then smiles at Magnus:

“I will be glad to see you again, Mr. Bane,” he nods to Magnus before leaving.

When cookies are brought to them, Jace imploringly looks at his sister, urging her to stop the dispute that flared again between the former partners.

“I still don’t understand why you should go to the club where Ian worked. He didn’t even get to work on the murder night. Besides, we have already checked this place. It’s empty,” Mike doesn’t know himself why he began to dissuade Magnus from going to the damn club, although if he was in his shoes, he might’ve done the same thing. Mike doesn’t believe in intuition, but the unpleasant tingling that came up in his chest as soon as Magnus voiced his intentions is intensifying with every minute.

“And I still can’t see why you’d mind,” Magnus also doesn’t believe in intuition, but the itchy feeling of anticipation that arose as soon as he found out about the club where Ian worked is as strong as Mike’s sensations. This evening, nothing and nobody can keep him away from the club. His ex-partner knows this, so he gives up:

“All right, well, keep me posted, Mags, and don’t risk for nothing,” it seems Mike tries to convince himself he can deal with this. “Are you sure Jace or I should not go with you?” Mike makes one last attempt.

“Nope. That’s not a good idea. And yes, I’m sure. Jace was there as a detective, and they can smell you are a cop a mile off.”

“Well, then Mags will go to the club to sniff around, I will have to do a blood test to verify his suggestion, Mike’s task is to keep our captain in line, and Jace will have to watch Game of Thrones,” sums up Izzy. “Now, let’s find out our future and try cookies, or else brother sets his pants on fire.”

Brother and sister break cookies simultaneously, pull funny pieces of paper out of it, and the expressions of their faces are changing while they read silly fortunes.

“The cookies are delicious, the prediction sucks,” Jace says, trying to hide a piece of paper in his pocket, but Mike quickly grabs his hand.

“Each of you read his one and doesn’t boil over without a cause. Ladies first,” Mike suggests, and Isabelle slowly bows her head and then reads out her fortune with an emotional voice:

_ The time will come for you to make your choice again, _

_ Let heart to be the basis of your main. _

“You’re the lucky beggar,” Jace chuckles and discloses his prediction with an expression of cosmic sadness:

_ The hunter loves the thrill of soul chase. _

_ But everything will change when he gets prey’s place. _

“You’re one to talk,” Mike chuckles, “after mine, I need to find a place to curl up and die.”

_ The time is slipping through your fingers like gold sand. _

_ From now, your fate is ruled by the another hand. _

“Hmm,” Magnus drawls, “compared to your horror stories, I just have a weird guide to action.”

_ Put out shaking hands, step to the darkness shrine. _

_ Don’t close your eyes and cross the borderline. _

“It looks like they suggest you emigrate,” Jace decrypts Magnus’s prediction.

“It looks like you have to go home, and I have to go to the club,” Magnus sums up and goes to pay the bill. His three friends are waiting for him in the street, but the old wrinkled Chinese woman catches him coming out of the restaurant and begins to mumble something in Mandarin, trying to give Magnus one more cookie. As soon as the little dessert gets into the detective’s hands, she warmly smiles and strokes Magnus’s cheek gently.

“Mags, the taxi’s here,” Mike shouts, and the private detective looks in his direction.

“Ask the taxi driver wait for a minute,” Magnus replays and turns around, but sees no one.

“In this city, people slip right out from under me too often,” an uninvited thought flies through the mind. Then Magnus sees his acquaintance near the owner of the restaurant, and detective belatedly realizes that this is Mr. Liang’s mother. The old Chinese woman waves her hand, and Magnus smiles, wraps his left hand around the fist of his right at chest level and bows, expressing special thanks to the mother and son.

Mike holds the taxi door open while his ex-partner gets in the car, then slams it shut and slaps the trunk, giving a signal to the taxi driver. Inside the car, Magnus stares at the fortune cookie for a long time, until he notices the driver’s surprised look in the rear-view mirror, after which he quickly puts the cookie into his jacket pocket, hoping that he can get it home safe and sound.


	5. Chapter 5

5

“Not worth a straw,” the ancients sigh, putting down Dalton’s file and looking at his watch. Half-past eleven. The night has just begun, it’s so boring to wait for news from the head of the clan. Isabelle and Jace, as Raphael’s watchdogs told him, had dinner with friends in a Chinese restaurant in the evening, and now they are watching the first season of Game of Thrones at home. A strange choice, but his descendants can’t be called quite normal. The decision comes unexpectedly, so Alexander takes his coat and, quietly closing the loft door, goes to the Scum nightclub, where Ian worked.

  
  
The club is living up to its name because the audience is fully in line with this place. Tall thin pale guys with long unwashed hair, who, apparently, pretending to be vampires, girls with tons of makeup on their faces, dressed in a miserable semblance of clothing, several suspicious men with completely unfocused eyes, trigger-happy bikers in cheap leatherette jackets, pose as Sons of Anarchy, so they bully visitors for no reason, several students in shapeless clothes, a couple of teenagers the security let in for some reason, and a handsome Asian flirting with a waitress. It seems that Raphael passed on his curse to Alexander because, in a seedy bar at the bottom of Brooklyn, ten steps away from the ancient vampire, Magnus Fucking Bane is having fun and paying the girl backhanded compliments. The mundane has been playing the detective for so long, he’s actually starting to believe it, and the ancient, like no other, will be able to convey the message to a mustard plaster.

  
  
The waitress walks away with a happy smile, leaving Magnus to sit alone at the dirty table. He frowns, takes out the phone, and writes a rather long message to someone, and then he gets up abruptly. The vampire, who decided to eliminate the annoying element from the equation, catches his eye and grabs Magnus’s hand. A moment passes, and the ancient allows the pupil to flood the iris. A low voice goes right in detective’s ears to reach his mind:

  
“Stop investigating these murders and forget everything you’ve seen.”

  
  
Magnus looks into two deep black ends, and his consciousness begins to fill with darkness, where each word of tall black-haired man sounds like a tocsin peal. Magnus doesn’t like gloom, so the repeated phrase: “What the hell?” flashes, as the neon lights, across the entire space of his brain. He shudders, looks down, and stares at the long pale fingers that grip his forearm tightly. And at this moment, the remains of blackness burn out in a fire of anger. Alec smiles contentedly, one less problem. And then this strange mundane meets his gaze again and hisses through his teeth:

  
  
“Get your paws off, or I’ll bite them!”

  
  
Alec quickly pulls his hand away, realizing that for the first time in so many years he messes this up. The vampire leaves fast, hoping that Magnus will need time to break the compulsion and that he will not remember who makes him drift out of reality.

  
  
He faces a group of the hunk of men who think of themselves as kings of the road and the whole world. That’s neither here nor there. But who would have thought that fans of cheap jackets with rivets would be so annoyed by a dark wool bespoke coat? And when a shaven-headed bearded doomed man purposely pours a glass of cheap drink on one of the vampire’s favorite garments, the ancient decides to teach the whole crowd of testosterone assholes a lesson. Alec looks back at Magnus, who is still motionless, staring at the floor. Well, he has enough time for his plan, so he sets the snare touching the pocket of his coat with a barely perceptible gesture. A hundred bucks fall out of it, and the ancient notice silly mundanes have taken the bait.

  
  
“Wow, pretty boy, do you have a lot of such pieces of paper?” an awkward bearded man asks Alec with an insidious smile.

  
  
“Do you want to go out and frick me, filthy pervert?” the vampire increases the degree of the risk.

  


  
“Johnny, do you see, somebody is looking for a fight,” the thug’s friends join the game, and the trap has shut.  
  
Magnus has been standing without a single move for forty-seven seconds, trying to get his head straight. All that he can remember is a black abyss plunging him into the darkness, and also a beautiful male hand with graceful fingers that have left marks on the skin of his forearm. His eyes are still cloudy, but the detective looks around the club, trying to understand what happened. All his efforts are futile: the club and all its inhabitants have not changed a bit since the moment he opened the door. Unless, the crowd of bikers began to behave more defiantly, finally finding a person who can be mocked at. Magnus sees how they, like hyenas, surround a young man in a dark coat and lead him out into the street to beat and rob.

  
  
“It’s none of my business,” he convinces himself dialing 911 and telling the police about the fight at the nightclub. “I promised Marino to be careful,” the detective reminds himself, stepping up to the emergency exit guarded by two big-assed dudes. “There is no need to kick against the pricks,” Magnus persuades himself, knocking the first guard out with his elbow. “I can’t help everyone,” he whispers when his fist strikes the middle of the biker’s face. “Fuck,” Magnus says when he opens the door and sees a potential robbery victim holding a hundred-kilogram blood bag in the air, lifting it by the collar with one hand.

  
  
Strong fingers dug into the jacket, unnaturally long fangs gleam in the dim light of a street lamp, and familiar black eyes look straight into the soul. A moment drops under the feet bursting the reality around, and Magnus steps off the deep end, jumping over moaning bodies. The detective skips out of the way at the last second when the biker’s body is flying by. This mysterious stranger, it seems, decided to play bowling with unlucky bikers, but the pin is rather slippery.

  
  
“I’ve called the police,” Magnus shouts trying to reason with the brunette, who slowly takes a step towards to the detective, and then rushes forward, but can’t keep up. The heavy ashtray smacks right into the back of Magnus’s head. The only thing that Alexander has time to do is to catch the detective himself and don’t let him hit the pukey pavement. The hunter’s brain frantically searches for alternatives and considers consequences while blood oozing from the wound soaks in the fabric of his coat.

  
  
None of the mundanes who are lying nearby will remember anything, the idiot that threw the ashtray has already run away, he couldn’t see the vampire, but there are still Magnus and the police he called. Alexander awkwardly shifts from one foot to another and hears a quiet crunch. He gets his leg up and sees a Chinese fortune cookie that has crumbled under the heel of his boot. Urged by the curiosity, the ancient holding Magnus unconscious with one hand picks up a prediction and reads it. A wide smile lights up his face:

  
  
“You’re a fucking lucky man, Bane,” the vampire says, peering into the detective’s pale face, “fate is clearly on your side today.”

  
  
After that, he picks up Magnus in his arms and runs up the brick wall, and then melts into the dusk of the night.

***   
  
Throbbing pain in the back of the head is so bothering that Magnus can not focus on what he’s doing, and doesn’t understand where he is. Fuck the location. The last thing he remembers is how an angry vampire was attacking him. The eyes gradually adjust to the darkness, so the detective slowly turns his head and sees in front of him a pair of the unfathomable eyes gazed ironically and insolently at him. Magnus turns his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “He’s full, and must have dragged me off to his lair to squirrel me away,” the detective thinks, contemplating the ceiling, trying his best to show the vampire that he’s not scared. “He is an idiot,” Alec thinks, getting up dartingly from his chair, “or became an idiot after being hit by an ashtray.”

  
  
A shaggy head blocks a beautiful view of the ceiling, and Magnus with a throbbing pain in the back of his head quickly closes his eyes, clearly realizing that he will not be able to stand another round of a staring contest, probably, his head will explode.

  
  
“Open your eyes,” the vampire demands, “we need to talk.”

  
  
“I don’t know how vampire things happen over there, but, as you see, I can listen with my eyes closed, and talk too.”

  
  
Alec sighs, this Bane is quite a handful. If everything keeps it up, then Alec will discover new heights of word creation in obscene Spanish for Raphael. The ancient rubs his forehead with his hand wearily, it’s just been a few hours, but he can fully grasp the sufferings of the head of the clan. This damn mundane is really an unbelievable pain in the ass.

  
  
“Why did you go for bikers?” Alec accepts the rules of the game imposed on him by the detective and sits in the chair.

  
  
“I did it cause I wanted to help you,” the mundane answers, as if, for him, that is par for the course, to throw himself at a crowd of men in to save a stranger.

  
  
“There were eight of them,” the ancients still can’t understand.

  
“You were alone.”

  
  
“So you went to rescue me, put up a fight with a couple of goons and kicked their asses and then you saw that I no longer needed help, so you decided to attack me? Did I miss anything?”

  
  
“Five people were lying on the floor when I opened that door. And you held the sixth one. Judging by your charming smile, you were going to devour him. Those loogans may not have been very nice people, but that’s no reason to kill them.”

  
  
“So let’s get this straight: according to your words, when you opened the door, you could appreciate the risk, briefly but still. In any case, you realized that I was a vampire and that I would easily kill you. You knew how it could have ended up, knew it very well, but rushed to save an unpleasant person from a monster could easily snap your neck.”

  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Magnus confirms all Alec’s words felling himself exhausted and helpless.

  
  
“What were you expecting?”

  
  
Magnus sits down abruptly on the sofa, and only the will power helps him restrain himself from retch. He stares straight into the eyes of his future murderer and declares:

  
  
“I lost you last time and was not going to lose you this one.”

  
  
“Really? I don’t remember you, and I have not met you before.”

  
  
“Ian Dalton, the young guy you killed in the dead end, and then you had drunk his blood like he was a cup of tea. I was the one who scared you off. Still, don’t remember?”

  
  
“Do you like tea?” the ancient suddenly changes the subject and covers his eyes, “since you compared a human with tea, you should. Which do you prefer? Green, black, white?”

  
  
“You’re out of your mind, aren’t you? Fuck you and fuck your tea! You can kill me now, freaking maniac. But one day, my friends will figure you out, and you will have to pay for all the lives that you took,” Magnus is shaking for hate and anger, he stands on his feet to make the ultimate sacrifice, and the vampire mirrors his movement, rising and taking a step towards him.

  
  
“I hope you know how to listen, because I’m not going to kill you and I’m not going to use compulsion, just listen to me,” Alec asks the mundane, still isn’t aware what he will do if the man standing in front of him, trembling with weakness or rage, doesn’t believe him. “It’s going to be a long story, so why don’t you sit down?”

  
  
Magnus analyzes, assesses the potential and then agrees, in the end, he doesn’t lose anything.

  
  
“My name is Alexander Gideon Lightwood, I am a vampire, flew to New York from London on the evening of September fourteen, this can easily be verified, so the death of Peter Brooks is not my doing. On the night when Ian Dalton was killed, I was at home, nobody can alibi me, so here you have every right to suspect me. But I haven’t been killing people in quite some time, a vampire of my level doesn’t need this. Even if I need fresh blood, it’s in my power to make a person forget it.”

  
  
“A vampire of your level? Noob or something like that? No, you, of course, made me fall out of reality for half a minute, but I easily remembered you, and I don’t intend to follow your orders.”

  
  
“Look, this is about you, all right? I didn’t realize that you are so ...”

  
  
“Strong?”

  
  
“Stubborn. Perhaps with a stronger compulsion, we wouldn’t be talking right now. But I was afraid to hurt you. The trick with consciousness never ends well.”

  
  
“Why don’t you take the moment right now?”

  
  
“It’s more complicated than you think. You don’t believe me, you’re afraid of me, perhaps you hate me. I’m not a stranger to you; my advantage of surprise is left in the club. If I want you to follow the order, I will have to break your will, completely subdue you. Maybe I can do it and you will be able to live your life when the compulsion ends, or maybe not. Nothing is holding you back from your hatred of me. You are stubborn and self-righteous. This is akin to being a fanatic so that I won’t take any chances. If you had not seen me again, you would never have remembered my face. Today I made one mistake twice and both times because I underestimated you as an opponent.”

  
  
“The first time was when used a slight compulsion. I understood that. And what about the second?”

  
  
“I didn’t think that you would rush to help a man, risking your life. I haven’t seen this for a long time.”

  
  
“And how long has this “for a long time” been?” Magnus asks with complete indifference.

  
  
“For a long time means seventy years,” Alec smiles. “I haven’t seen such derring-do since World War II, but I’m a little more years old. About ten times.”

  
  
“Well, yes, of course,” the detective agrees, “not two hundred, not three hundred, but seven hundred. I should tell you that you are wonderfully preserved. I wouldn’t have given you more than five hundred.”

  
  
“Lots of sleep, healthy food, and physical activity work wonders, I highly recommend it.”

  
  
“I’m still too young to live such a boring life. Maybe when I’m two hundred years old, I will follow your advice.”

  
  
Alec smiles and lets his guard down with a little. The mundane takes a punch, and the vampire begins to like their verbal byplay.

  


  
“Okay,” Magnus attracts his attention. “Why did you try to kill me near the club?”  
  
“I am certainly very fast, but not fast enough for you can’t notice me run to the door and throw an ashtray at you and then come back and try to save you from it.”

  
  
“The ashtray,” Magnus exhales, and his hand reaches to the back of his head involuntarily, but when he sees the warning sign, he doesn’t touch his head, “it was definitely the owner of the club. He must have heard me call the police.”

  
  
“You need a doctor, Bane. I stopped the bleeding, but you probably have a concussion.”

  
  
“For a second, let’s just say I do believe you,” says the detective, ignoring the ancient’s last words, “but if you didn’t kill Peter and Ian, do you know who did it?”

  
  
“It was a demon. He is actually wouldn’t mind drinking blood.”

  
  
“Demon?”

  
  
“Yes, we have to kill the demon.”

  
  
“We? And let me ask you, why are you interfering with your fellow bloodsucker?”

  
  
“Because blood is not an end in himself. Murder is probably a part of the ritual. And let me assure you, his purpose is unlikely to be world peace. That’s the reason we need to work together. Only warlocks can summon demons. Warlocks are immortal like vampires. But vampires live only at night, and the magician can work during the day. I think this warlock is quite inexperienced because otherwise, the magician would not have allowed the demon to roam around the city and make ritual killings. Still, don’t want some tea?”

  
  
“I’d like something stronger.”

  
  
Three hours and a bottle of good Scotch later Magnus has found out that there is another world around him, filled with all kinds of creatures whose existence is impossible. Demons can enter this world only if they are summoned by a warlock; this kind of mysterious people does not come along often. Therefore, according to Alec, the magician that summoned this demon is quite young. Perhaps he does not even know about the danger that threatens him.

  
  
“The demon has a lot to offer to the warlock, but he can’t create anything, so he will get everything he needs nearby,” Alec concludes his explanation.

  
  
“Well, now I get a general idea of my plan of action, and what are you going to do, Alexander?”

  
  
“Alec. I don’t like being called by my full name. I’ll eat and look for information about the pentagram in my books, and then I’ll go to bed. You can come to me tomorrow after sunset.”

  
  
“An excellent plan, Alexander. It seems that I will have work hard in two shifts.”

  
  
“Alec, call me Alec. I hope you don’t need to tell you that everything has to be secret.”

  
  
“Who will believe me?” Magnus smiles. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

  
  
“Alec,” the ancient repeats defeated, turning to the door. Thank goodness Magnus is not a vampire; otherwise, he would always be hungry. It’s very difficult to drink blood that your abrasive character has made to boil.


	6. Chapter 6

At this moment, sleep is all that is vital to the private detective, in whose head His Majesty Chaos reigns now. It’s an exaggeration to say that the perfect order completely dominates there before, but the entropy of the system was at an acceptable level and didn’t threaten, as it is now, to sweep the last pieces of common sense into a dustpan and throw them out of the consciousness, like unnecessary garbage. A familiar from the childhood world, which was nevertheless full of amazing puzzles, had one quality that was necessary for Magnus. In essence, everything had its rational explanation in this world; it obeyed the laws of logic and was comprehensible with science. Magnus was fond of science. He always had an extraordinary quivering attitude towards pundits, who had devoted their lives to the search for truth. Atheism and materialism were not an empty phrase for him; Bane believed he was able to become the best in his department only because of his scientific mind. And now all his knowledge is worthless and, together with logic, goes to the dogs, waving a defiant adieu. It makes him angry because it pulls the rug out, but at the same time, it heats his imagination piquing curiosity. Therefore, the human brain needs a life-saving sleep so that it would not jump out of the skull box, and the human body stands in complete solidarity: it has been on its feet for almost two days, not counting the rest on a hard bunk in the police department, and it lusts to find himself in the arms of his bed. That’s why both the brain and the body of a tired Magnus unanimously decided to kill that jerk who broke into the detective’s office, forgetting to close the door behind him. It’s so unwise! An aggravating circumstance of this infamous crime was the fact that the bastard wasn’t satisfied with the office, but went up to the second floor, where a small apartment was located.

  
That stupid, arrogant son of a bitch was lying on a sofa in front of a TV droned on, and only Magnus’s heightened reflexes saved the dork’s head from up-close-and-personal experiences with a baseball bat.

  
“What the hell, Mike? What are you doing here? Should I call the police or you will arrest yourself, you damned burglar!” Magnus yells at his friend, while the brain convinces the body that killing and subsequent dismemberment and burial of corpse parts will take longer than just talk.

  
“It took one day, Bane, you couldn’t hold out even one fucking day,” Mike also raises his voice, because he got tired of fearing for the ass of his ex-partner, who is constantly looking for adventures and regularly finds them. “The day before yesterday, you rushed to a dark dead end to save a man, then you ended up behind bars and got out of there, just because you were very lucky. But it wasn’t enough for you, and you started to investigate the murders of a damned psycho killer because you had been hired by a crazy girl who believed in all kinds of supernatural crap. Seemingly, it should be more than enough for a normal person, but we are talking about Mr. Bane. I told you that the club would be just a waste of time, I said it, but you never listened. So you ran up there like a bee to a honey pot. When the guys informed me about the fight in the night club, I still tried to believe that you had nothing to do with it, but when they found your phone at the crime scene, I wasn’t even surprised. One killer isn’t enough for the thrill, so you decided to get into a fight with a crowd of drunk bikers. “The furious ninja kicked all shit out of two men, and then, he clubbed the head of some unfortunate rich kid with a glass ashtray and took his body to be buried in a nearby forest.” That’s the version of events the owner of the club told me, so I want to ask you: I hope you were smart enough to put the corpse away safely because I do not want to investigate another murder.”

  
As Mike mentions the lost phone, Magnus begins to fumble in the pockets of his jacket, and then asks the question that seems quite logical to him:

  
“Mike, did the patrolman find Chinese fortune cookies there? It seems that it fell out with my phone.”

  
Mike exhales tiredly and utters calmly:

  
“Screw you, Mags, screw your cookies and your adventures. I’m going home to get some sleep. This afternoon I’ll call you to the police department to testify, and I won’t lift a finger to help you.”

  
“Wait, Mike, there were no corpses, nothing like that, just a drunk fight in a nightclub,” Magnus finally comes to his senses, “that guy, he’s fine.”

  
“And are you sure that he won’t file a complaint with the police and won’t charge you with the attempted murder?”

  
“Yes, I’m sure.”

  
“How can you be so sure, Mags?”

  
“In truth, the back of my head got hit with a damn ashtray, by the way, your dearly beloved host of the club was the person who threw it. The rich kid, as you called him, just helped me: when I lost consciousness, he took me out of the club and dressed the wound. That’s the whole story.”

  
Mike quickly stands up, turns Magnus’s back to him and, whipping a string of obscene epithets about the expert thrower of ashtrays, carefully runs his rough fingers over the wound:

  
“Does it hurt?” he whispers, kicking himself for the carelessness: his ex-partner got a new hairdo. An unknown rescuer had cut short the back of Magnus’s head to tend the wound easier.

  
“No, it doesn’t,” Magnus replies in a whisper, enjoying a bit unusual gentle touch, and then it dawned upon him: Mike does not comb the strands of hair loose with his fingers, but strokes the itchy scalp.

  
“Mirror, I need a damn mirror right now,” Magnus jumps up and runs like hell to the bathroom. A second lately, Mike has heard a moan of bereavement that turns into angry wails, following by terrible threats against Alexander. Mike realizes that Magnus was hastily when he assured him that he hadn’t killed anyone tonight. Judging by his fierce look, poor Alexander needs to leave the country right away.

  
Magnus stands in front of him with such a long face that Mike makes every effort not to laugh out loud.

  
“You need to see a doctor,” Mike tries to get the thoughts in the right direction.

  
“I need to see a barber,” the unfortunate victim of haircut answers him.

  
“Magnus, that’s enough. It’s five in the morning. I haven’t slept in two days, you too. Let’s just stop arguing and go to sleep.”

  
“Yes,” says a tired brain, simultaneously starting to turn off all peripheral functions. “It’s time,” the body agrees and goes to the bedroom.  
“Mmm,” Magnus says, looking with suspicion on the policeman, while his body persistently continues to get closer to the treasured horizontal surface.

  
“The sofa will be enough. I’ve already forgotten how comfortable it is,” Mike reassures his friend, “just give me a pillow.”

  
“Take it yourself,” Magnus’s voice comes from the bedroom, where he finally met the object of his desire.

  
Mike just grins, fixing himself in the familiar couch. Perhaps only a bed in this apartment is more comfortable than the sofa, but he lost his access to the bedroom about a year ago.

***

The annoying trill of the alarm was impudently ignored by the man sleeping on the sofa, so the phone rings a little more at least and then shuts up resentfully. Sleeping Mike wins by seventeen points to nil, when the sound of an incoming call from Isabelle gets inside his head after all, and Mike answers the phone on autopilot:

  
“What the hell are you bothering me bright and early?” the police detective, who hasn’t yet awakened, snaps his forensic expert’s head off, “Isabelle, did you call me just to breathe down the phone?”

  
“No,” the girl’s voice sounds weird, “I called Magnus because you didn’t show up for work this morning, and Jace couldn’t get through to you. It’s eleven in the morning, boss, and I really want to know why you are answering Mags’s phone.”

  
“Because he sleeps, he got banged up yesterday,” Mike explains, still absorbing the information about current time and his being late for work.

  
“Oh,” Isabelle exhales into the phone, “you have to tell me everything in great detail.”

  
“Izzy,” Mike whispers hoarsely, unsuccessfully trying to rein in the girl’s vivid imagination, “it’s not what you think.”

  
“Isabelle,” Magnus having just woken up, pries his phone out of the policeman’s hands with a joyful yell, “oh, sweetie, I need your help so much. Yesterday, one bad man did something completely indecent with my hair. A cruel punishment awaits him, but first, I have to fix all the consequences of this terrible disaster.”

  
“I suddenly realized I’d changed my mind about the detailed story,” his friend responds immediately. “I think I can call my stylist and try to take some time for you. Please, tell the boss, not to do that again.”

  
“What does this have to do with Michael?” Magnus wonders. “He would never do that to me.”

  
“So there was a third?” the medical examiner gasps, delightedly changing her mind to the opposite one again. “Magnus, I’ll do anything you ask, but you owe me a careful description of what happened last night.”

  
“No problem,” Magnus agrees happily and quickly says goodbye to Izzy, staring with a puzzled look at Mike, who is flinging his arms about.

  
“What?”

  
“No, never mind. Mags, what happened yesterday? I need a full story.”

  
“Mike, first and foremost, you need to go home, and I need a shower. Let’s meet at the police station so that I won’t have to repeat the story twice. At the same time, I’ll check something.”

  
Mike really doesn’t like this idea, at least to Magnus’s too honest face that leads the seasoned detective to certain suspicions. For example, Magnus, by hook or by crook, is avoiding the conversation now, so that he has time to come up with a coherent and true story, which he will tell later. But time is against Mike, cause they have been waiting for him in the department, so he agrees half-heartedly with the proposed plan.

  
A handsome, well-groomed, slim guy freezes for about ten seconds when he sees a short-cropped nape combined with long strands at the temples and crown.

  
“Tell me who this monster is, and I will cut off his manhood personally,” the stylist says with a grim look, snapping with barber’s shears pointedly.

  
“Is everything so bad? Magnus asks plaintively, afraid to hear an affirmative answer.

  
“You are in good hands, darling, don’t worry and enjoy,” the barber answers him, putting on ршы gloves and getting to work.

  
Three hours later, Magnus leaves the hairdressing salon with a new haircut, a completely made-up story, and a prepared action plan. The day’s definitely looking up.

  
Lady Luck is on the side of the private detective today because, at the police department, he runs into Sanchez, who instead of the usual emotional yells, stares at Magnus in a state of ludicrous wonder, giving him the opportunity to quickly grab the charming Brazilian by the elbow and drag him to a secluded corner.

  
“What happened?” Sanchez squeezes out the words, pointing fingers at the top of Magnus’s head.

  
“I’ve got a makeover,” he waves that off, not wanting to go into details, “I need your official help. I am investigating a theft, so I have to go through all the cases you’ve had in the last two weeks. I don’t really want to seek information from Mike cause he has a busy time. Help me, and I’ll buy you donuts, deal?”

  
“My wife forbade me any sweet things, I’ve been on this diet for a week,” Ramirez talks in a sad voice.

  
“So, how’s it going?” Magnus asks, taking a step back and scanning his friend from head to toe.

  
“Lost seven days of my life.”

  
“I see,” Magnus agrees. “How about it? Can private detective Magnus Bane take a look at the reports on thefts and robberies over the past two weeks?”

  
“Detective Ramirez is at your service,” a former colleague says with an exaggerated wink and leads Magnus to a single desk.

  
When Sanchez puts brown case files in front of Magnus, he whistles, evaluating the amount of work to be done.

  
“I understand,” Sanchez nods sympathetically, “these criminals are a loose cannon, one unsolved theft after another. I don’t know who your client is, but my gut tells me you’ll only waste your time trying to find the stolen things. However, I won’t spoil the impression, you’ll see it for yourself.”

  
Magnus sighs and sets to work. Almost three hours have passed before a private detective finishes reading the last case and puts the file aside.

  
“I thought you’d never finish,” Jace’s voice says by the ear, “I’ve been hanging around for half an hour, but you seem to be too involved. Have you found what you were looking for?”

  
“I hope so,” Magnus replies evasively.

  
“Does it have to do with our case?” Jace lowers his voice and moves closer.

  
“Get away from him, Jace, if you please. Magnus, I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Mike is unhappy, but Magnus knows how to fix it very well:

  
“Ask Izzy out for a coffee,” he offers a couple of partners, “in the meantime, I’ll place back the files.”

  
Paying no heed to the baffled looks of the cafe guests, Isabelle weightlessly touches the long strands on the top of Magnus and lightly runs her fingers through his shaved temples, while he shares his impressions of his visit to the beauty parlor.

  
“Your Reginaldo is an absolute genius,” Magnus thanks the girl, simultaneously blocks her try to touch the back of his head. “He was able to turn a terrible disaster with my hair into a work of art.”

  
“And how did this disaster form there?” Isabelle asks, taking all her willpower to stop touching Magnus’s hair.

  
“After dinner, I went to the club and there I met a nice girl who worked there as a waitress. She didn’t mind chatting, so we began to gossip about her colleagues, friends, and the boss. Just imagine a boundless sea of unnecessary information I’d been drowned. When she finally turned away, I saw in the corner of my eye that a couple of scumbags who posed as bikers decided to make fun of a young man. I had to call the police and came to his help. There were a couple of enforcers at the emergency exit, whom I might have asked to open the door a little bit impolite. They refused to help me at first, but you know that my gift of persuasion is extremely strong. By the time I ran out to the alley, some guys had already come to the rescue of Alexander. I think they had a personal beef with those assholes, so Alec was very lucky. Well, then an ashtray hit my head, and I lost grip on reality for a while. I woke up on the couch in my savior’s apartment. As it turned out, while I was unconscious, he treated my wound in the most barbaric manner, unceremoniously cutting the hair on the back of my head, and then he forgot to tell me about it. We made acquaintance, talked, and I had to tell him about my work as a private detective. Alexander hired me to investigate one case. I’ll have to omit the details cause it’s confidential. We discussed the information he had, arranged the next meeting, and then I went home.”

  
“So, according to your words, some guys passed by this club at a good hour came to the aid, and they did it only out of the goodness of their heart.”

  
“Think Michael. It is quite possible that our saviors waited for their enemies there for a few days. So temper your sarcasm about the outstanding moral qualities of these guys.”

  
“I am thinking, Bane. And it seems completely unbelievable to me that your savior didn’t lay a finger on you.”

  
“Why should they touch us? Unlike the club’s under-bikers, we looked like the kind of people who might go to the police. They didn’t want any trouble.”

  
“And why did you and your saviors think that those bastards from the club wouldn’t say anything to the police?”

  
“And did they tell the patrol anything? I’m sure not. Mike, you know as well as I do that such people have a lot of bad shit, so they have been slow in going to the cops.”

  
“Does it mean they believed you? And as they were not looking for the bad publicity, you let him go to all four corners of the earth in gratitude for their help.”

  
“Not me, Mike. It was Alexander. He wouldn’t be happy to be dragged to the police station to testify, either.”

  
“You reeked of alcohol when you got home,” Mike continues to doubt.

  
“That’s why people can always guess that you’re a cop. Mike, I was at the nightclub, it sucks, I should say, but still. This isn’t a place where people drink smoothies.”

  
“So, why do you need theft cases?”

  
“This is all about my investigation for Alec,” Magnus tells almost the truth, so he doesn’t even feel much remorse when he looks in his friends’ eyes.

  
“Alec, again,” Mike grumbles, “you got together too quickly.”

  
“Perhaps, he got a good look at my professionalism, while I was lying on his sofa as a vegetable. Michael, he pays well, and I need a job. I don’t want to give Clary any hopes and squeeze money out of her, especially given that you were completely right about the club.”

  
Magnus knows with certainty that if he admits his former partner being right in front of everyone, he will be able to deflect suspicions from himself. The plan has worked, so Mike calms down and is ready to give credence to Magnus.

  
“Let me inspect your wound, Mags,” Isabelle, a little disappointed, intervenes in the conversation.

  
“For the first, I need the results of blood tests. Have you identified whose blood it is?”

  
“Yes. I think you won’t be surprised if you know that this is Dalton’s blood. Just like you said. Now turn around, I’m a doctor after all.”

  
Magnus sighs heavily, seeking support from his friends. Still, only Kimberly dares argue with a determined forensic medical examiner at the police department, and only if the chief is afraid of making her superiors angry. So the two men are sitting staring off into space and trying to ignore Magnus’s puppy dog eyes.

  
“Come on,” Isabelle coaxes her friend, “be a good boy. I won’t place you under house arrest, I promise.”

  
“You always say this way,” Magnus mutters, turning back to his friend.

  
Isabelle’s fingers flutter over the wound without causing the slightest discomfort. Three men are waiting for her verdict, but she doesn’t say a single word continuing to bob her head with a surprised look.

  
“What’s up, Izzy?” Jace can’t stand the silence anymore and immediately pays the price for his words, getting a rib from his more experienced partner.

  
“Is your new acquaintance a doctor?” Isabelle asks Magnus’s tense neck.

  
“I don’t know, maybe not,” the detective replies and turns to the friend, “Is everything all right?”

  
“Even more than that,” the forensic expert nods with satisfaction, “judging by your words, he’s not a good hairdresser at all, but he certainly knows how to handle wounds, even I can’t nitpick.”

  
“And you won’t insist that I will have to lie in bed for a month?” Magnus asks incredulously.

  
“You had the flu that time, and I recommended bed rest, but instead of this, your Michael dragged you on a romantic walk down the sewers. By the way, after this incredible date, I was getting your temperature down for almost three days.”

  
“There’s no reason to bring up the past,” Mike hastily puts himself into the conversation. “And what’s the plan?”

  
“Jace and I will continue to watch Game of Thrones,” Isabelle answers both for herself and her brother.

  
“I’m going to do the paperwork, otherwise Kim would have my guts for garters, and you, Mags?”

  
“Well, I’ll go to Alexander, we have work to do,” Magnus answers and then says goodbye to friends, and leaves.

  
“This Alexander looks like a very suspicious man,” Jace finally voices the common view before the trinity goes in different directions.


	7. Chapter 7

7

“What have you done?” Santiago lowers his voice because it’s his proved way to control his temper and not to get in trouble, but it is more and more complicated to do with each subsequent night that he spends with the ancient.

“I never thought you had to be told twice,” Alec is ready for such a reaction, but how to keep from teasing such a serious head of the clan.

“I heard you the first time,” Rafael hisses, “but why is always Bane? Was it really necessary to tell him everything?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Alexander is just curious, but Santiago knows what will happen if the ancient notices even a shadow of a doubt. “Do I have to remind you that I need neither your approval nor the approval of the clan. This mundane is necessary for the investigation of the case, so, please, snap out of it, and let's get down to business. What did you find in Brooks’s house?”

“Nothing, my guys were there yesterday, but couldn’t find anything interesting. There was no pentagram; there was nothing at all.”

“The smell might have worn off.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt that anyone erased the pentagram.”

“Did they check the houses nearby?”

“Houses nearby?” the head of the clan steps back, realizing that this miscalculation makes him look bad.

“Don’t be shy, I can repeat it again for you,” Lightwood isn’t angry, but discontent as a poisonous snake glides in his voice, making Santiago feel like a guilty student in front of the headmaster of an elite school.

“No, I didn’t give such orders to my guys, but today I’m going to fix it personally.”

“I think I should go there myself,” Alexander drawls thoughtfully, suddenly smiling.

“I have to make some calls, but then I’m free.”

“Save your breath, I’ll go there with Bane. He just got out of the elevator.”

To see panic and confusion in the eyes of the head of the clan is priceless, but the ancient is not going to stop:

“The balcony is on your left,” he offers the way out for the evil vampire, and immediately regrets that he cannot capture this face for posterity.

Confusion with a flash of fire burns out in black pupils, giving way to anger, which paints pale cheeks with delicate shades of pink, and a formidable vampire turns into a pretty cute creature. Alexander feeds his sight while Santiago tries to recover and deal with the growing irritation and shame:

“You suggest I escape through the balcony as if I were a young lover who was frightened of a jealous husband.”

“You can stay and I’ll introduce you. The decision is yours.”

A shrill bell trill interrupts the staring contest and Lightwood goes to open the door, feeling the cold air breathes on the back of his head. There is no need to turn around to understand what Rafael has chosen. It’s so amusing, so the ancient is carefully watching the private detective, who can to force the head of the clan to jump off the balcony, giving a damn about all his regalia.

“Admiring your handiwork?” a deceptively soft voice breaks is the Lightwood’s thoughts, and he shrugs.

“Have you changed your hairstyle? You are pretty odd-looking.”

And if Santiago who is constantly trying to control his feelings looks childishly charming when he is in a rage, then a furious Magnus can incinerate with his eyes:

“Can you remind how to kill a vampire?” Bane asks innocently, defiantly working his swarthy fingers.

“Well, obviously, you shouldn’t keep trying to burn me with your beautiful eyes.”

“Because it might work?”

“Because that’s rather foolish.”

“Is it worse than my haircut yesterday when you shaved the back of my head and then didn’t tell me anything?”

“You didn’t look silly yesterday, rather a bit funny.”

“Go on, I’m ready to listen carefully to your sincere apologies.”

“Apologies?”

“I never thought you had to be told twice, I ...,” Bane pauses, because the vampire in front of him looks, to put it mildly, very surprised. “What did I say wrong?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Lightwood looks at a quite ordinary person who has just beaten the vampire with his own phrase, and smiles, rejoicing that he kicked the head of the clan out of the apartment in time: Santiago, definitely, would have pleased to see the obvious perplexity on the ancient’s face.

“When did we move from irony and sarcasm to compliments?” Magnus looks at the contented Alec, puzzled, and shifts from foot to foot.

“Right now.”

“Does this game have rules? Should I praise you in return?”

“It will be enough if you let me examine you,” the vampire reaches for the back of his head, but the detective steps back, and the door digging into his back.

“There is no need; my friend has already done everything.”

Alec moves back, raising his hands:

“I’m not going to kill you; don’t be afraid.”

Magnus shakes his head, and then takes a few quick steps forward, unceremoniously invading the vampire’s personal space.

“You have nothing to do with it. It’s because each such examination usually ends with bed rest at least for two weeks or strong medication. Both of my close friends are doctors, so I trained to evade any moves towards me.”

“I didn’t know that everything is so bad.”

“It’s worse than you think. Once I lost an amazing girl, only because she decided to play doctor. And so to stop your brain imagining how it looked like, I will let you see, but no meds or bed rest.”

Bane turns his back on the vampire, allowing the long fingers to slide down the back of his head. Alec carefully examines the wound. Short hair pleasantly tickles pads, while long strands on the top make an unthinkable contrast of tactile sensations when the left hand inadvertently touches heavy silk of the hair. The vampire pulls his hand away, grazing the jagged edge of the cut, and Magnus twitches, but wills himself to stand still, only complains a little bit:

“It hurts.”

“Sorry. Ready to listen to my verdict?”

Bane turns around and waves his hand doomed:

“Go ahead, quack doctor.”

“You’re so healthy that you can join me for a walk to Brooks’s house.”

“Alexander,” the detective exhales loudly, “let me remind you that I am a human. By the time we reached there on foot, my feet would be covered with blood, and I would collapse from exhaustion to the nearest gutter, where I would end up, dying alone.”

“Did you become a cop cause you had failed exam to a drama school?”

“You have very sensual lips,” Bane says with a deep voice, closely watching the reaction of the ancient. The vampire’s eyebrows raise, and the tip of the tongue brushes his suddenly dried lips. It lasts only a second, but Magnus’s memory carefully saves this picture in its bins.

“Just tell me your words makes any sense,” Alexander glances imploringly at his interlocutor, who plays with words and changes the subject so swiftly. So all unsuccessful attempts to find any patterns in the reasoning of this mundane force even the honed mind of the ancient to seethe. And this is the second time in ten minutes.

“I’m just playing your game: a sudden shift to compliments after bickering. Didn’t you do the same thing five minutes ago?”

Alec raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture:

“I give up, this round’s on you.”

“Well, baby, now you know that you can’t compete with daddy Magnus.”

“You’ve won, Magnus, please have mercy. It’s cruel of you to finish me off.”

“Fine. So you want to go to Brooks? There was the police, but they didn’t find anything. But on the other hand, we have no leads, so why not. But only by car, and we can discuss the information about thefts that I managed to dig up as well. Who’s driving?”

“You’re daddy today, so it’s up to you.”

“Oh, baby, I see, your gut says what I like.”

Alexander only exhales in resignation:

“I’ve already given up, Magnus.”

“Don’t you start the second round?”

“Can we just change the subject?”

“Everything what you want. There are several cases that may interest you.”

“Great.”

While they are taking the elevator down and walking to the car, Alec manages to filter out most of the robberies, using criterion he knows only. Bane makes notes on his phone in silence, grinning every time the ancient indicates the file that suits them.

The vampire stops mid-sentence when Magnus comes to his car and gestures for the ancient to sit in the front seat. For a few seconds, Lightwood looks from the car to its owner and once again, without saying a word, until, finally, the detective gives up:

“What? I thought you would appreciate my rare car.”

“Unlike you, I distinguish between antiques and junk. And this — undoubtedly has nothing to do with the first. A car is a delivery vehicle for a person from point A to point B. It must be safe, comfortable, and fast. This rust bucket doesn’t have any of these properties. I won’t get in this car. Come on, and I’m driving today.”

The ancient resolutely turns around, and a moment later he looks with displeasure at the swarthy fingers clutching his elbow.

“This rust bucket is the ’66 Dodge Charger, I don’t know where have you been for the last fifty years, but it is an American legend. And if you want to continue our investigation together, then hold your tongue.”

“Your crazy, based only on your emotions, affective fixation on this car will not change my opinion. In the modern world, it's so foolish to refuse progress. Its technical embodiment is twenty meters away from you.”

The vampire turns Bane around and points to a new featureless Mercedes in standard black. Magnus curls his lips as he sits in the newest achievement of German engineering.

“Safe, I agree, comfortable, who would argue. Fast, perhaps yes too. But just so you know. Under the hood of my rust bucket there are one and a half times more horsepower than in your piece of metal.”

“Q to the e to the d. What will you gain by having a car with 450 horsepower in New York? Irrational and stupid.”

Alec starts up his delivery vehicle, relaxes and leans back, looking with a smile at beetle-browed Bane. Mundanes are so mundanes: they cling to things and never see the main one. Two men are silent all the way to the first crime scene: the detective gets his head out of the phone screen to look around once in a while, but most of the time Alexander is left to his own devices. Saturday warm evening is made for walking, and the streets of the city are full of people. However, as they are approaching the neighborhood where Peter lived, there are fewer people, and the landscape is changing.

“It’s kind of dark,” Bane finally says, putting his phone in his pocket.

Alec only shrugs: he is used to a such city.

“Okay, let’s work. Brooks House on the other side. Split up or together?” the detective asks his partner matter-of-factly as he gets out of the car.

“Together,” the ancient answers him at once, slamming his door, “it can be dangerous here.”

“I’m a big boy, Alexander. It’s not so easy to kill me.”

“Everyone is easy to kill,” the vampire whispers right in the ear, instantly appearing behind Magnus and squeezing a strong neck with long fingers, “you’re just a mundane.”

“I agree,” the detective says pretty calmly, “and, as we have already found out, I can’t burn you with my eyes. But what about electric discharge? How will a vampire like you feel a charge of several thousand volts? A taser is pressed to your leg, so get out your fingers from my neck if you don’t want to experiment right now.”

Three. They didn’t even get to Brooks’s house, and the damn mundane surprises the vampire for the third time:

“Wow, Bane, you are not just brave, you are really sick in the head. Threaten a vampire with a stun gun. How did you even get to be your age?”

“You didn’t answer the question and still haven’t removed your hands. I’m waiting, Alec.”

“Let’s make it clear, Magnus. I was not going to threaten you, I just demonstrated that you shouldn’t underestimate creating like me.”

The detective is ironically silent, until the ancient begins to understand, that the mundane can address the same words to him. Ice fingers quickly slide off the neck, not leaving a single mark on the swarthy skin. And the vampire is already standing in front of the Bane, bowing his head to the side.

“I don’t know how an electric discharge will affect a demon. I think a taser will be effective if the demon is in his material form.”

“What about the vampire?”

“We are investigating the murders together; you help me, and I help you. Any questions about demons, pentagrams, and others. But after completion of this case, we say goodbye. Therefore, no personal questions, no information about me or other downworlders. No exceptions.”

“And if I were a high ripped sexy blonde?”

Four. Four times this evening, Bane could discourage Lightwood.

“At one of the intersections, you looked at the handsome blond man, so I ventured to guess,” Magnus explains, watched Alec’s face warily.

“You’re quite observant. Or is that blonde your type too?”

“Brunette lover?”

“No personal questions, Alexander. The rule must work in both directions. Let’s go.”

Brooks’s house is not much different from the others unless the yellow crime tape stands out as a bright spot in the dark. Dim light is enough for a vampire, but for an ordinary human such lighting can be a problem. Ancient says nothing but tries to stay close to the mundane. There is a mess inside but Magnus, however, perfectly gets around. The detective swims across the floor, smoothly rounding the sharp corners. He inspects the small space of the living room and kitchen with a displeased look. For several minutes, they carefully examine the cupboards and their contents, until a quiet whisper is heard in absolute silence:

“Have you found anything?”

Alec shakes his head, realizing that Santiago’s guys know their work perfectly well: if there was something here, then this has not already been here.

“Alec!” Bane says louder, and can barely keep a scream when a vampire materializes from behind yet again today.

“Why are you yelling?” the ancient whispers detective in the ear, and then turns him around.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Magnus, in turn, pushes him.

“I shook my head,” Lightwood says in support of himself.

“The head is designed not only for the shaking but more for the thinking,” Bane lectures his partner, “and if you did, you would understand that I was not a cat and could not see in the dark. He shook his damn head,” Bane continues to grumble, grabbing Lightwood’s hand tightly, and begins to move confidently towards the bedroom.

Magnus freezes on the doorstep of the bedroom and then steps back, bumping into Alec.

“What’s wrong again?” the vampire is interested, going over the thousands options in his head.

“I told you, I can’t see anything, it’s bloody dark in here.”

“It didn’t bother you in the living room.”

“In the living room, I memorized the location of the objects when a passing car illuminated everything with headlights.”

Lightwood sighs tiredly, nevertheless, paying tribute to the magnificent memory, and then grabs Bane by the shoulders and carefully moves him aside:

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Alexander whispers to his partner and disappears into the dark bedroom.

He appears in front of Bane in a few minutes, but does it so quietly that the man who has closed his eyes doesn’t react at all. Absolutely defenseless, he breathes slow, leaning wearily against the wall, and for some reason the vampire really doesn’t want to intrude on his solitude.

“Nothing?” Magnus asks, never opening his eyes.

“Yes,” Alec confirms the detective’s hunch. “I thought you didn’t notice me.”

“I smelled your perfume,” Bane shrugs and comes off the wall. “Let’s go look for the pentagram. I think we’d better split up: I’ll take the houses on the left and you take the right.”

“No,” Alexander cuts short, “you are under my protection. We are going together.”

“As you wish,” the detective submits and goes to the exit.

They find the pentagram on the third house, and while Magnus taking pictures of it and the surrounding area, Alec continues his course of lectures on demonology for beginners:

Demons don’t have a physical body, while they live in their dimension. But here, on the earth they have to take some kind of material form to perform any acts. In other words, in order to kill someone or destroy something, they will have to resort to a physical body, the size and affecting power of which depend on the rank of the demon. The blood the demon drank is a material object, so a well-fed demon cannot immediately turn into a spirit, time must pass. But if the demon was very hungry, then it takes not a lot of time. When the demon goes into its dimension, a seal remains in our world. There, at the dead end, you frightened him, so there were drops of blood in the joints between the bricks. The demon didn’t drink so much blood as to not be able to leave, but not so much as to have time to digest it in a few seconds. I don’t understand why he didn’t kill you.

“Maybe he was on a diet?” jokes Bane. “Or I’m not delicious.”

“About the diet, it is hard to believe, but about the taste, there is no need for you   
to worry. You are a healthy strong man in the prime of life, I think you are very tasty.”

“Is that a threat or a compliment?” Magnus queries softly, involuntarily squinting. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by the vampire.

“Just a simple statement of fact.”

“I thought vampires preferred young virgins.”

“I thought we clarified the situation with personal issues.”

Magnus can only spread his arms, admitting his defeat. They return to the car in silence, and the detective again plunges into the phone.

“Where are we going, Magnus, I need an address,” the ancient asks impatiently, belatedly realizing that he did not have time to eat.

“Have you forgotten where you live? Or have you lost your memory because you’re hungry?”

The vampire can barely keep a moan. The fifth time in the evening, and that, apart from an impressive memory. Santiago was clearly not exaggerating. Maybe if he were in Raphael’s shoes, he would also have to jump off the balcony out of harm’s way.

“What gave me away this time?” Alec asks a little nervously.

“Next to nothing, just a guess.”

“Well, look at you, how quick-witted man, but what a pity, not when it really necessary is,” the vampire speaks maliciously, “I need your address. I will drive you home.”

“My car is in your parking lot, I’ll get home myself.”

“You’re tired, inattentive, and distracted. It’s not the best combination for driving a car.”

“Thank you,” Bane answers, and then tells him the way.

It’s funny enough, how a simple word of gratitude fundamentally changes the atmosphere inside the car. So all the way to the detective’s house they discuss the robbery cases and chat the course of future actions. Everything goes great, exactly until the moment when Magnus sees Marino near his house and with a cry of “Fuck” tries to hide under the seat.

“Drive, just drive past, Alec,” the detective pleads, and Lightwood obeys, inspecting the man standing in the street.

They turn around and stop at the opposite end of the street. Alexander stares at Bane, waiting for an explanation. But he remains silent.

“Is it personal?” the vampire decides to help his partner.

“Not exactly. This is Mike Marino, my friend. I don’t think I could clearly explain what I was doing in your car. You are my client for him, and clients rarely give private detectives they hired a ride home. I think he would run a plate your car number, and quickly figure out where we were today. So, I did it to keep your secret.”

“So, you’re lying to your friend.”

“All that I can do in this situation is to minimize the volume of my lies. You got me over a barrel, Alexander, and last thing I want my friends to suffer. In addition, Mike and I found a way to reconnect after a long break. Our relationship is quite complicated.”

“Relationship? Wait a minute? Marino, after all, is gay,” the vampire suddenly recalls the conversation between Isabelle and Jace, “do you happen to play for both teams?”

“Is the word bisexual too complicated or too defiant for you?”

“I’ve been being gay for seven hundred years now, I think there are no too defiant words for me. Is he your ex?”

“It’s personal, Alexander.”

“You’re right.”

Magnus gets out of the car, slams the door and staying put, closely looking at Lightwood through the window. This gaze forces the ancient to open the window on his side and call Bane with a gesture.

“Ask, Magnus.”

“How do you know that Marino is gay?”

“I figured it out,” Alec gives an imitation of the detective.

“And that I am bisexual?”

“I’m incredibly quick-witted,” the vampire continues to mock.

“As a former cop, I have to warn you that such shrewdness is not exactly legal, especially with respect to the acting officer of the law. Therefore, I think you won’t be very surprised if I get a similar brown file on you. We need to even the odds. Goodnight, Alexander.”

Six. The dossier on Isabelle Chesterton, so carelessly left on the table, got the detective to completely wrong but such logical thinking. Where there is one file, there may be a second and a third. And successful vampire hunches concerning Mike and Magnus only confirmed this theory. Alec leans back wearily, realizing that the private detective doesn’t trust him one iota, and it's only the ancient’s fault. Damn file, who could have imagined that one minute would be enough for this prodigy to scan the situation completely.

Lightwood looks at Magnus, who glides along the walls as a dark shadow, clearly sneaking up on unsuspecting Marino. A tall cop, a bit shorter than the vampire himself, stands calmly, deep in his thoughts. Bane is almost close when he makes a war cry and rushes at Michael, jumping on his back.

“Michael, what are you doing here?”

“I missed your sofa. Why so late?”

“Are you getting off on being a mommy?”

“No, I’m just tired of waiting.”

“You have keys, so why didn’t you come in?”

“Last time, you nearly killed me with a bat when I was lying on the sofa, so I was careful.”

“Smart boy,” Bane says, jumping down onto the sidewalk, and then looks down the street and unconsciously moves away from Michael.

Alec knows that the detective can’t see him, it's too far, but like that time on the roof, he has the feeling that Magnus is looking right at him. The ancient starts the car, slowly turns around and already in the rear-view mirror sees how two friends in a complicated relationship enter the house.


	8. chapter 8

8.

The last six months, morning and Magnus meet each other extremely rare. His bedroom is strictly off limits to the sun, cause only had left the police, the private detective finally let himself to be a night owl. But this day is pouring down with the crash of broken plates, the smell of burnt bacon and the harshest language of Marino. And if Bane manages to bail on all of the above and, having mustered the strength, continues to sleep, then a cry of pain that swept through the kitchen, reflected from the walls and brazenly passed into his ears, makes Magnus literally jump out of bed and rush off to the kitchen. The breathtaking picture of a tall, muscular brown-haired man in jeans alone, hopping on one leg among the picturesque scattered bacon, instantly disappears under review, and all Bane can see now is a beautiful ceiling of his apartment. A second later, Mike’s concerned face obstructs the light and gray-blue eyes are scanning Magnus for damage.

“Sorry, Mags, I didn’t mean to wake you. Have you hurt yourself?”

“No, I just decided to lie down and sleep, since you’re OK.”

“Sorry, the pan slipped out of my hands and fell right on my foot.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Bacon crumbled, and fat spilled.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“That’s why you slipped.”

“I’ve understood.”

Such a serenity as a brightly burning wick approaches the powder keg of Marino’s annoyance, and he explodes:

“Damn it, Magnus, your new place of abode puts spokes into my wheel: the fucking tap in the bathroom has soaked my T-shirt, the fucking dishes stand where is impossible not to hit them, the fucking stove that burns everything, and the fucking slick frying pan.”

“And the ham-fucking-handed man in my kitchen,” Magnus adds philosophically and smiles.

“Yes, the ham-fucking-handed man in your kitchen,” Mike agrees and lays down next to his ex-partner, who can always calm him down with a few words. “So, you decided to lie down and to sleep. Do you know that right now you are being soaked with the smell of bacon.”

“Well, my taste will get even better,” Bane replies, and only then realizes that person next to him is Mike, not Alexander.

“Your taste?”

“Never mind, I’m just thinking out loud. Go to the shower, and I’ll deal with breakfast.”

Thirty minutes later, Marino meets with clean kitchen, dirty Magnus and breakfast.

“Sit and eat. I have to clean up too,” Bane winks and leaves. Indecision stops the hand, which was already ready to hold the little sleepy man. Mike have missed him, again. Everything is so familiar: the breakfast prepared by not fully awaken Magnus and their jokes. Everything is so unusual: having breakfast alone, and thoughts that no longer belongs to the two of them. Marino nervously checks the phone, realizing they are waiting for him at work, and he has to leave without saying goodbye.

When Magnus enters the kitchen, a note awaits him, but a small sheet of paper immediately drops into a basket after reading.

“We’re just investigating one case,” Bane reminds himself, leaving the kitchen, where gratitude and promise had just been crumpled and thrown away.

All that he can find in his office is dust and a pile of bills, so Bane turns around, and, having grabbed all his notes, goes to the cafe, advertising a job offer of an assistant. In the cafe, Magnus works, systematizing and sorting out everything that he and Alexander discussed yesterday. The list of questions is inexorably lengthening but the detective is happy. The more questions, the better. After three hours of continuous activity, an interesting prospect stands out before the detective, and he decides to take a chance, so he gets his thing together and goes to Long Island University. The campus is located in the heart of Brooklyn, right in front of lower Manhattan. The building of the private university is impressive, representing a unique symbiosis of traditional and ultramodern buildings, connected to one another by galleries. Education here is not cheap, so almost all students belong to the middle and upper classes, but so far they are not attracted to Magnus, cause he can’t take his eyes off the four-story library. The library where he can’t get in yet. Bane walks in the park that surrounds the campus, and then, forces his most charming smile, comes to a group of girls. Time is on his side: the fall semester has just begun, so he can pass for a new student. Poor English and a little accent do their job — in fifteen minutes Magnus is fully aware of the set of documents required by the new student, the access systems and the unsatisfactory work of the guards, and also becomes the owner of three phone numbers from pretty young students.

It’s eight o’clock in the evening when Marino barges into the detective’s scrubbed clean office with a bag of Chinese food and finds his friend talking on the phone. A lively conversation ends abruptly as the officer appears in the doorway.

“Is it something illegal?” Mike asks, frowning, but Bane just shrugs.

“It’s confidential information. No comments. What are you doing here again?”

“I brought a rent of your couch,” Marino tries to laugh it off, but Magnus doesn’t give in.

“I think we should slow down, Mike. You sleep on my couch for the second night in a row, you have breakfast at my kitchen, meet me after work and leave stupid notes like: "Thank you, and see you tonight." We are not a couple, and I do not want to move in this direction. We are just investigating the murders together, that’s all. Maybe we will become friends, but I don’t want to fall in love with you again, the last time I did it, things didn’t end well.”

“If you hadn’t been such a moron, then everything might have been different,” Marino raises his voice but stops short when he sees how his words hit his friend, forcing him to clench and unclench his fists to calm down.

“That’s a damned right definition of my behavior but it doesn’t change our current situation. Your payment for the couch is accepted, I will have dinner with you, but you won’t stay at night,” Bane gives full value to each word, not allowing emotions get the best of him, and slowly recovers, exhales, and looks into such beloved eyes in the past. “Mike?”

“I just want to be next to you. I need you, Magnus, as a partner, as a friend, as an interlocutor, as an adviser, as a cook, after all. I’m not trying to rush things, I just miss you.”

“Tell me you took the shrimp chow mein, and I’ll think, just think, about the lease terms for my sofa.”

“How could I not buy it?” the ex-partner smirks and deftly places boxes with food on the table. “Any leads on our case? I have no ideas left. A couple more days, and I will come to you with an aspen stake to hunt vampires together.”

The private detective is saved only by his endurance and willpower, he shakes his head to eliminate unnecessary thoughts and visions in which Mike meets an angry vampire.

“Let’s not talk about work, at least for today,” Magnus asks, cause he doesn’t want to lie to his friend. “You’d better tell me what you have been doing for the last six months as you’ve missed me so much.”

And Marino willingly talks about his narrow-minded ex-partners, about his sister and her daughter, who misses Magnus, about the shows he watched without his friend, about his unsuccessful attempts to cook. Time had flown, and the hand of the clock has already rolled past eleven, but Mike doesn’t want to leave and desperately looking for an excuse to stay.

“Marino, it’s too late. Come on, be a good boy and get your ass home,” Bane literally jabs Mike out the door, and with a sigh, starts cleaning. Exactly ten minutes later, the door opens and Michael appears at his doorstep again.

“For fuck’s sake, what wasn’t clear for you?” Magnus gets mad, but Marino doesn’t let him finish.

“Get ready, we’ve got a new murder, the bastard has risen the stakes: the body in the park, completely drained of blood, and that’s only three days after the last murder.”

They ride in silence, as they always did. Thinking, pondering, analyzing. Not a single word before, not a single word after, no brainstorming. It was as if there were no other partners, and Magnus never left the police. And only a tiny worm of doubt haunts. A small, intangible change that Marino can’t catch.

Mike leads Bane to the crime scene and has a word with the patrolmen who were the first to arrive. The changes become apparent when the policeman notices how a private detective behaves at the crime scene: a cursory glance at the corpse instead of a careful examination, complete ignoring the testimonies of the police and the witness who found the body, and then, at all, Magnus signs that he will walk around the neighborhood.

Bane returns in fifteen minutes, lost in thought. He doesn’t notice anything around him, lifts the police tape and walks over to his ex-partner:

“Have you found out who the victim is?” Magnus asks, finally deigning to pay closer attention to the corpse.

“Not yet,” Marino says thoughtfully, trying to grab one unpleasant thought by the tail.

“Then I will go. Thank you for letting me take a look, I won’t interrupt you any longer,” Bane nods and leaves, simultaneously typing something on his phone.

Jace takes his place immediately, instantly filling the head of his partner with a bunch of useless information and speculation.

“Jace, do me a favor, shut up!” Mike can’t take it anymore and walks away from this annoying source of noise, pondering Bane’s strange behavior.

“Oh, come on, you cranky old. You could just ignore me, as Mags did,” Chesterton grumbles displeased, carefully adjusting the volume of his voice so that Marino can hear him. “It might think that our brave officer of the law has already figured out the killer, and I only distract him with my hypotheses.”

Jace takes another look at his partner to make sure that he hasn’t gone too far, but Marino at the moment resembles a crazy professor who stares into the void with his eyes wide open, while his lips mutter something incomprehensible.

“Uh, Mike?” his partner cautiously calls the officer, and takes a step back when the cop rushes up to him and grabs his shoulders:

“Where did he go?” Mike is a bit shaky, and there’s such desperation in his voice that Jace eats up all the jokes that he has prepared, and points the direction with his hand.

The private detective is prey to doubts. He has already informed Alexander of a new attack and his desire to resort to police assistance. Therefore, Bane looks at the short and pithy “NO” from the vampire once again and sighs, and then barely manages to turn off the phone, because of the loud voice of the ex-partner echoing through the park.

“Magnus Bane, stay where you are,” Marino shouts at him, and the detective’s brain instantly translates these words: “Run as fast as you can, Mike is gonna kill.” Magnus is not liable to fear but it’s very difficult to stay calm watching how an angry Marino approaches him, especially when his own instincts scream about the danger. But Bane stands still, deep down, preparing for a difficult conversation:

“What’s wrong, Michael?” he asks as casually as he can, trying to ignore the angry expression on the policeman’s face.

“Who is he?” Marino asks real strong and sees how Magnus diligently acts out an astonishment.

“He?”

“Enough, Mags. Who is the killer? I see that you know this bastard. So why the hell are you keep silence?”

“You thought wrong, Mike. I have no idea who our murderer is,” the private detective answers as confidently as possible, convincing himself that he’s barely lying.

“Really? Maybe then you’ll explain your behavior. Since when is Magnus Bane not interested in the circumstances of the murder and leaves the crime scene to walk around the neighborhood? Have you been looking for something, found something interesting?”

“He called me,” a mocking voice comes from the left, and Marino turns his head in bewilderment to take a look at the new interlocutor. Bane stands motionless, perfectly knowing who the soft baritone belongs to, and not wanting to meet the gaze of its owner.

“Mr. Bane, have you provided details to a stranger?” Marino wants to come to his ex-partner, but a tall brunette has subtly moved behind Bane and stands very close to him. Sly grin and this man answers for Magnus again.

“He called me to reschedule, officer. And, if you’re done, I’d like to discuss with Mr. Bane some details of the case he’s investigating for me.”

“Magnus,” Marino calls his friend and looks at him expectantly.

“He’s right, Mike. I have to go. Meet me tomorrow to discuss it more,” the private detective finally comes to his senses and turns to Alexander.

“Could we stop by my office? I have to show you something.”

“No problem,” the ancients smiles contentedly: he has won this round.

  
“Taxi?” Bane asks again just in case. “Is your safe, comfortable, and fast delivery vehicle from point A to point B out of order?”

“I ran over here on foot, cause it’s a lot faster. Therefore, we can walk to your office on foot too, unless, of course, you are afraid to bleed your feet and die alone in the gutter.”

The detective only shrugs and flags a taxi down. In a car Magnus realizes that he took only the keys with him, so he carefully looks at Lightwood, who mockingly raises his eyebrow. He doesn’t want to say loud that he has no money, so Bane bites his lip and, cursing his own forgetfulness, moves closer to the vampire and presses on his shoulder, forcing him to tilt his head to the detective.

“Can you pay, I’ll give you all the money back as soon as we get to the office” Magnus whispers embarrassed, trying not to watch how Alec’s lips break into a smile, while the taxi driver looks disapproving at the couple.

“Is there a problem, guys?” the driver asks harshly, but stops when he looks in the rearview mirror and see Alexander gazing at him.

“We don’t, but what about you?” the ancient’s voice sounds dismissive but still is hypnotizing the harebrained mundane.

“Alec, he’s driving, stop it now, or we’ll have an accident. One of us is mortal, and it’s obviously not you,” the detective whispers violently in his ear, but the vampire is already hard to keep, or he pretends to find out how the detective will get out of this unpleasant situation. The reaction of the ex-officer is not long in coming, because suddenly a strong hand desperately grabs his dark hair and with all its strength pulls them and leans the vampire’s head way back. The ancient is strong enough to hold his head, but gives in to Magnus and only tosses his head feebly, feeling how dainty fingers strain, trying to keep the head.

“Please,” Bane asks, and Alexander closes his eyes to show he has accepted the situation.

The rest of the way passes in silent, but the vampire feels that Magnus is tense and waiting for a trick, and his hand is still frantically clutching the hair.

As soon as the taxi stops at Bane’s office and the driver turns around to say the price, the ancient opens his eyes and abruptly lifts his head, fixing his eyes on the taxi driver. Second drops in the hands and a broad smile lights up the whole face of mundane, who wishes them a good evening. Lightwood jerks his head impatiently, giving every appearance that his only desire is to get rid of the irritating hand, which is still trying never let him go. The detective curls his lips, realizing that he can’t even compare with the vampire, and unclenches his fingers with a sad sigh.

“Good boy, but don’t do it again,” the ancient warns calmly, getting out of the car, and waits for an answer.

“You can’t treat people like that, Alexander,” Magnus disagrees, watching the car drive off, “that driver didn’t do anything wrong. To talk to him only from a position of strength doesn’t suit you. You can’t force people and deceive them just because they’re mundane and can’t defend themselves. Then how are you different from a crook that preying upon the gullibility of the old people steals all their savings.”

“I don’t treat all people like that, Magnus. I despise people like him who judge others based on stereotypes imposed on them, without even trying to get out of the tiny tight den of their own dogmatic convictions. Let this be a lesson to him. Besides, I didn’t have any money either. And you didn’t answer.”

“As long as you don’t act as unprincipled as you did today, I won’t touch your hair. Moreover, you are much stronger than me, are all my efforts and promises so important to you? Or maybe you are worried cause you to look like Samson: just shave your head bald and you’ll lose all your strength?”

“It’s personal questions, Magnus.”

“Whatever you say,” Bane answers and squints his eyes suspiciously.

“Apparently, you already have the long list of what you’re going to do with me, don’t you?”

“Personal questions, Alexander,” the private detective smiles for the first time in the evening and invites the vampire to his office.

“What did you want to discuss? Or was it an excuse for your ex?” Lightwood asks idly.

“Help me,” Magnus says, and sits down beside the ancient. “Look. Murders and thefts revolve around the Long Island University in Brooklyn. Those crimes that you noted are all petty thefts. Are you sure the demon did them all?”

“I think there are only two thefts we need, now three. The demon does not have to steal everything himself, most likely, his aura prompts unbalanced people to make rash actions.”

“Aura,” the detective hems, “I figured as much. There are only two thefts that suit us: fashionable clothes from a closed boutique and an expensive audio system, all the rest are more like ordinary crimes. Are you sure that only a warlock can summon a demon? I mean, it seems suspicious to me that a magician would call a demon to steal clothes and an audio system, or am I wrong, and they always do this?”

“Just a simple click of the fingers and any magician can get what he wants. Demons are not called for such nonsense.”

“Can the mundane summons a demon if he finds the right spell or correctly draws the pentagram?”

“Absolutely not, Magnus, we’ve already discussed it.”

“Are warlocks born only to warlocks? Can a mundane become a magician, or, for example, can someone endow with power a human?”

“Get to the point, Magnus, I have no right to tell you the secrets of magicians. What is your theory?”

“I think the demon was summoned by an ill-balanced student who found the right spell. This person knows neither about the shadow world nor about his abilities. And when the demon had found out, he began to use it for his own purposes. Look at the map, this morning I doubted, but the third murder confirmed everything: one by one in a circle, at equal distance from each other, as if a demon was drawing his pentagram, not with chalk, but with blood. The only question is: why?”

“To summon a demon that is stronger, to be more precise, a very strong demon, not the Greater, but still powerful enough to upset the balance. This is very similar to the truth, but not the first part. Warlocks control the power that they draw from the environment. When there is another surge of power, a child with certain magic may be born. But the places of birth of such children are known in advance. And there was not a single case that such a child was left alone or not noticed. What’s wrong, you have a face, as if you are sick.”

“I can’t fucking hear about these powers. Power, power, power. What the hell is the power? Electric, lifting, nuclear?”

“OK, we can call it energy.”

“Potential, kinetic,static?”

“Magnus, don’t be such a drama queen.”

But the private detective is already leaping from his seat and, desperately gestures, trying to convey the whole absurdity of the situation to the ancient:

“I can’t. Your world is one huge contradiction, I can’t catch on, I can’t lean, I can’t do anything. Tell me that the laws of your world have logic, and it’s difficult for me just because you don’t tell me everything. Because I can’t do that anymore. I have to know the boundaries, know the conditions, the patterns, the workings, whatever you want to call it. We can sit here till the end of the time, and I won’t even have listed half of my hypotheses, just cause I don’t know in what way to think. Alec, people are dying. I know that this is not so important for you, but it is important to me. Time is running out, and we are going round in circles, but you are silent. Please.”

The vampire winces and gets up slowly, and then walks over to Bane:

“Listen, Magnus. I just can’t do it. Warlocks’ secrets are warlocks’ secrets, I have no right to tell you them, but I’ll try to come up with something. Let’s assume that your hypothesis is correct, what are you going to do?”

“Tomorrow I will have a set of documents, so I can go to the library. I want to delve into the books, to figure out who took them, and then compare the list of too snoopy readers with the list of students living on campus.”

“It can be very labor-intensive. How will you define the right book?”

Bane stands, glancing at the vampire, and his silence is more eloquent than any words. So the ancient grins, and then sits down in an armchair, slapping on the next one. A private detective carefully takes his place and prepares his notebook.

“We will not discuss magicians, but we walk you through demons. To summon the demon you need a pentagram that will hold it inside. The stronger the demon is, the more complicated the pentagram will be, therefore, all intricate patterns immediately go to the trash. Our semiwarlock will also need a correct spell and the name of a demon. The invocation is usually carried out in Latin, at least as far as I know. I don’t think the book should be new, it will be better for you to start with the oldest editions, you can take a couple of monographs. Honestly, I don’t know very much about the summoning demons, sorry.”

“Not a lot. Let’s try to contact the police. Mike will understand and help, and I will have more leeway.”

“No way. It’s enough you know. Magnus, you protect your people, I protect mine. I do not tell you, because every extra word, any information that falls into the wrong hands, can put the shadow world on the brink of war. And trust me, there are many ways to loosen your tongue. Our world is not simple, and I’ ll do everything to maintain a delicate balance, even if it requires a few victims from the mundanes.”

“So are you going to kill me after we finish the investigation?” Bane looks straight into his eyes.

“And what do you think?” Alec grins but doesn’t look away.

“I think not, otherwise you would tell me everything. What does it matter if I don’t remember anything later? But why? Of course, I am grateful to you, but why the sudden attraction of such unprecedented generosity? Can’t you see me as a threat?”

“I’m a little arrogant, Magnus, but not dumb. You have clearly demonstrated several times, that you could be a real pain in the ass. When we stop this madman, you will go back to normal, realizing that at any moment of your life, if you start investigating again, I’ll show up and burn the hell out of your memory. You help me, and I help you. There is something else: the human deaths don’t leave me indifferent, but all centuries I’ve lived helped me to come to the conclusion that arithmetic is the best assistant in matters of life and death. The death of one is preferable to the death of hundreds. Downworlders are more valuable than people. And at that moment, when I have to choose between mundane and downworlder, I won’t hesitate.”

“Likewise, Alexander.”

“Glad we’ve come to an understanding, Magnus. Do you have more supposes?”

“A few. Other vampires are imitating demonic activity to set up a trap for you.”

“It’s definitely a demon; you can’t fool a vampire’s sense of smell.”

“Did other vampires tell you about the smell, or did you feel it yourself?”

“Myself, and what makes you think there are others vampires in New York?”

“When you were speaking out against, you didn’t say there were no others, you referred to the sense of smell. Besides, it is quite logical to assume that you are not the only one in the city. Too much food for one. Most likely, there is a whole pack of vampires here. Or do you have another name for it?”

Lightwood moans helplessly, this mundane is too clever, the main thing is to keep Santiago’s cover, otherwise, he will be the first vampire to die a heart attack:

“No comments. Next.”

“The University has a portal and only one demon can fly out on certain days. As soon as the demon finishes the ritual, he will open a portal for the rest. Initially, the portal was opened by a bunch of fanatics, either through negligence or ...”

“There are no such portals,” the ancient interrupts the flight of fantasy.

“Hell, I liked that theory so much. Warlocks were hired to artificially create danger, and then declare the savior for the presidency of the Shadow World.”

“An interesting version, we’ll think about it later,” Lightwood says and gets up from his chair, “but now you have to go to bed.”

“What? No, I haven’t voiced even half my assumptions. Listen,” Bane begins to chatter, jumping up from his chair, but the vampire’s wide palm covers his lips carefully but firmly, not letting him utter a word. Alec stands behind, holding Magnus against him and preventing him from escaping.

“You got a really hard day tomorrow, so you have to sleep. You are mortal, you need rest, remember this. I like your theory of a larger pentagram, tomorrow we will be where the demon may appear. Listen to me, drive home, I’ll give you a ride, but no talk. That’s enough for today, just trust my experience.”

The ancient slowly removes his hand, waiting for a trick, but the detective is silent, weighing all the pros and cons.

“Perhaps you are right. Goodnight, Alexander,” Bane nods and goes to see his midnight guest off.

“Magnus, that won’t work. You’re coming with me,” the vampire says wearily, seeing that the detective wants to close the door behind him and stay in the office.

“Damn, I forgot to say,” Bane rubs his eyes, “my apartment is on the floor above. That’s the truth,” he adds when he sees Lightwood’s distrustful look.

The ancient nods and crosses his arms over his chest:

“Go, I’ll stand here for a while, get some fresh air.”

The door slams shut, but Lightwood’s quick ears distinguish irritated snorts and grumbling grunts:

“The second mommy I’m stuck with as if I’m a child.”

Alec looks at the second floor where the light turns on, and then a familiar silhouette appears in the window. He closes the curtains, and a tan hand penetrates into the thin gap between the two canvases with the middle finger raised up, causing the ancient to bursts out laughing. This mundane is definitely worth all his shattered nerves.


	9. Chapter 9

Two mornings in a row, Magnus has to get up bright and early, not getting enough sleep at all, and this makes him angry. But memories of yesterday’s victim are pulled him out of bed by hooks of guilt. A cold shower shakes off the drowsiness, and the private detective exhales slowly: it will be a difficult day and a difficult night. The way to the university seems so short because nine-tenths of his thoughts remain without thorough analysis. But it’s for the best: sensible ideas rarely knock on his head in the morning.

He joins students entering the university building and blends in. His ID card works as it should, so there are no problems. The library is quiet and peaceful, and Magnus set himself up for a boring pastime. Instincts do not fail him, and after five hours the private detective has: stiffened back and tingling neck, seeing spots and an acute shortage of caffeine in the body. Only perseverance and willpower help Bane to return to the land of nod after a short coffee break and continue to look for a needle in a haystack. By five in the evening, this outstanding idea of finding the right book has undoubtedly won the nomination "The most stupid thought that ever has visited my head." The body desperately needs another cup of strong coffee with a killer dose of sugar in it, and Magnus closes his eyes because he understands that if he goes outside the library, he won’t be able to bring himself to return. His subconscious plays a dirty trick: Bane feels a pleasant tantalizing aroma of coffee beans. He slowly opens his eyes and sees a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. The detective blinks, hoping that this paper cup will disappear, and he hasn’t turned into a magician.

“He’s real,” a slightly hoarse voice comes right above his ear, and then a narrow palm hovers for a second near Bane’s neck and gently sets the collar of his shirt right.

“Thank you, but no,” Magnus smirks, deliberately not turning his head, “I think you’d better get it off the table.”

“Are you sure? It seemed you were dreaming of hot sweet coffee,” the stranger accepts the rules of the game and takes his time to show his face to Magnus.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you scared I’ll poison you?”

Magnus only shrugs, he is not in the mood to flirt with strangers. The same palm takes coffee, and a second later a tan brunette with brown eyes finds himself vis-à-vis Bane. He puts the cup to his lips and slowly takes a drink.

“Tasty, hot and sweet,” he comments on, licking his lips, “don’t miss your chance.”

Any other day, Magnus might have come up with something ingenious, but all that he can do today is to exhale and start picking up his things, muttering quite clearly:

“Well, thank you, now I won’t be able to look at coffee for at least a month.”

“You’re so adorable,” the brunette doesn’t give up, “freshman? How old are you? You look over twenty.”

“Dude, just watching you drink coffee made me age ten years at once.”

“So you have a sense of humor. I like you.”

Bane snorts and leaves without saying a word: he doesn’t want to continue this talk with the arrogant student. He has almost left the university when he finds his pad missing. Swearing like a sailor, Magnus flies upstairs and takes a deep breath. The king of flirting is sitting in his seat and reading a book with a straight face. The detective slowly comes to the student and freezes exactly in the same pose as the brunette did a few minutes ago.

“Have you changed your mind?” the stranger asks ironically, without turning his head.

“I forgot my pad,” whispers Magnus, leaning even lower and his lips almost brushing up against the smooth skin of the cheek. The detective notices the uneven breathing of the persistent brunette and with a quick movement of his hand grabs his notes, taking them right out from under the luckless boyfriend.

“Dirty pool, pretty boy,” the stranger looks disappointed and turns to the detective.

“Reading the book upside down can’t be very comfortable,” Bane adds, takes a speaking glance at the book, but the brunette only shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t see much difference. Shit, I don’t understand either way.”

Magnus bites his lip and looks at the large clock in the library.

“Show me,” he says resolutely, sitting down next to the brunette. “But only one stale compliment and you’ll deal with the math on your own. What’s your major?”

“Designer, I’ll take over the family business. I am Richard.”

“Magnus. So, you have some problems.”

“I don’t understand why the designer has to know all this mathematical stuff.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t have enough time, otherwise I would lecture on the benefits of mathematics. Meanwhile, we restrict ourselves to theory and practice.”

After an hour of detailed explanations and instructions from Bane, Richard makes progress and begins to solve problems on his own. So Magnus allows himself to be distracted, going through the books lie on the edge of the table, and then freezes scared and stares at his quick learner.

“Richard,” he calls the student solving another problem, and tries to keep his voice calm and disinterested, “why do you need this book?”

“Mmm, this one. We have to write an art essay on articles of some dude, something to do with Gothic architecture in New York. Well, as I am the fastest man, all the new ones were already stolen before me, so I had to take this ancient collection of articles. I pulled it out from the librarian fighting to the outrance. But what’s the matter?”

“Do you really need it today? Can I take it? Tomorrow I’ll bring it back.”

“No, I don’t need it, and, of course, you can take it. Are you interested in Gothic architecture too? By the way, we can meet tomorrow, and you will return the book.”

“Okay,” the detective nods and stands up. “You gonna be all right?”

“I think yes. Didn’t forget anything?” Richard smiles.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?” the detective exhales tiredly.

“Your number, Magnus.” Richard is staring at the detective without a trace of embarrassment, but Bane doesn’t care: the book in his hands burns the fingers, and he agrees to everything, so he gives the number and quickly leaves. The detective can hardly restrain himself from sitting down on the steps and looking at the book, so he puts it in his bag and tries not to run to avoid suspicion.

And only at the of Lightwood’s apartment, Bane realizes that he had no doubts whose address give to the taxi driver ...

“I thought we agreed to meet at nine in the evening,” the vampire says, interrupting the current of thoughts, and the detective stares at his face. Ancient doesn’t look displeased, he’s more concerned.

“Magnus, what happened? Is everything all right?”

“I think I’ve found the right book,” the detective finally shakes out of his torpor and comes inside, trying to keep from wincing. If they are lucky, there will be no more murders.

The vampire sits next to him and watches Bane begins to flip frantically through the pages, trying to find the page he needs. Sigh, and Alec covers his hand with the cool fingers.

“Enough, Magnus, exhale,” and the ancient decisively takes the book. And after five seconds he finds an article devoted to the rituals for summoning demons.

“Amusing. The same pentagram we saw at the crime scene. It’s likely that our semiwarlock could use this guide. The description of the summoning is very detailed, only the name of the demon is quite unusual. Raymond. It doesn’t sound like something demonic. Whatever. What’s next? Can you find out who took it?”

“In principle, I can try, but it will be difficult. I have to use the library computer and go through the list of bibliography records.”

“So do you suggest to break into the library today?” Lightwood looks at his partner up and down. “Did you learn that at the police academy?”

“Well, actually, I counted on you to help me "convince" the librarian to show the records, because there is a password on the computer.”

“If I understand correctly you want me to use the compulsion?”

The detective can only nod dejectedly.

“Wow.”

“I know how it sounds. But you forbade me to contact the police. And I don’t know suitable hackers, you too, and even if you do, hacking can take a lot of time. Compulsion is the only way to get the information we need quickly and almost legally. I don’t like either that I have to do this. There is another way. I can try to spy the password tomorrow morning and enter the library in the evening, but we will lose time, moreover, it is also illegal, and there is less chance of success.”

“In any case, we can pull it around only in the evening. Sunlight doesn’t have a positive effect on me,” Alec carefully avoids the theme of the sun, because he doesn’t want to let the mundane know his abilities.

“Well, nobody’s perfect*,” Magnus says philosophically, and the ancient laughs in relief:

“Do you like old movies?”

“It’s cause Osgood is perfect.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the vampire still smiles, and then gets up and holds out his hand:

“Let’s go, we still need you to eat. I could hear the sounds of your empty stomach outside the door. There is a nice restaurant nearby, unless, of course, if you don’t mind Italian cuisine.”

“Not necessarily,” Bane dismisses, “we can make a couple of sandwiches from what’s in your fridge,” and then stops, noticing Lightwood’s surprised look.

“Well, if you insist,” Alec drawls mockingly, enjoying the detective’s embarrassment.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Alexander, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, just keep in mind that the content of my fridge, let’s say, is a lack of variety. So what about Italian food?”

“I’m not sure I can eat anything today,” Magnus sighs doomed for the second time this evening, “my imagination has already run away with me, so let’s go direct to the place.”

It only takes a split-second for the vampire to grab Bane’s hand, and completely defying his protests, brings him to the big dark kitchen, lit only by the light from the living room. A huge black fridge attracts and scares at the same time, it safely holds its secret, and the detective is not quite sure that he wants to see its contents. But Alec leads him directly to the door and then steps aside. Magnus bites his lower lip, opens the door, and then blinks a lot, blinded by the bright light of the empty shelves.

“Have you cooled off your imagination?” the familiar voice is suddenly heard near the ear, but Magnus doesn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, and you won’t be able to satisfy my curiosity, would you?”

“Enough is enough, Bane. Let’s go.”

The vampire takes the hand of poking his nose into every hole mundane and goes outside. Lightwood never lets go of the swarthy palm even for a second until they come to a small cozy restaurant where Magnus keeps checking the time until Alexander takes his phone away to eat in peace.

“We won’t be late,” Alec is trying to cool the hothead, but Bane gives him an apologetic smile.

“I have the jitters, I have not been on a stakeout for a long time. I just can’t get over it. Don’t worry, I don’t normally behave like this in the field. Everything will be OK.”

The vampire doesn’t answer, he just gestures the waiter to get the check and hakes his head when he sees Magnus looking for his wallet in the bag.

“It’s not fair, Alexander. I ate all we had ordered, and you want to pay for.”

“You will treat me some other time,” the ancient answers leering down at him and pays the check, noticing how the swarthy hand twitches to the neck but stops immediately. The private detective knows how to handle his emotions, and, if Lightwood were not a vampire, he wouldn’t have noticed this gesture.

The vampire waits for his partner on the street, closing his eyes tiredly until the muffled din reaches his ears. Perhaps the ancient would have ignored them if he had not distinctly heard "Fucking chink". Lightwood appears in the restaurant exactly at the moment when Magnus is twisting arms of a huge Irishman and pulling him off a short brown-haired man with rat eyes. Alec watches, ready to intervene at any moment, but Bane doesn’t need help.

Magnus has a steel grip, so the mighty Viking accepts his defeat and lets the detective takes him to the far corner, where a tear-stained brunette immediately rushes. At this time as thin as a rake Italian, the owner of the restaurant, shouts at the brown-haired man:

“Get out of my restaurant, if you don’t know how to drink, then don’t spoil people's mood! Don’t disturb my restaurant again!”

The brown-haired man snaps, but other guests are already taking the rowdy outside. Alec sees that in the far corner, the private detective has already let the red-haired Irishman disengage from the double arm lock. So now the big guy is rubbing his hands and looking down at Bane who is explaining him something. And then the redhead scoops Magnus up in his arms and begins slowly breaking the bones in his bear hug, at least that’s how it looks like. Magnus whispers something in his ear, the Irishman nods, smiles and spreads his arms. The detective steps away and warmly greets the petite brunette. The owner of the restaurant joins the unusual trio, gratefully shaking hands with Bane, who pats the Italian on the shoulder, and then Magnus notices Alexander and opens both hands wide, pleading the guilty. Lightwood only grins and the long forefinger beckons the detective, who has got into another trouble, to the vampire. They go out together, and the ancient looks at his partner not saying a word until Magnus breaks down:

“In general, I could not do otherwise.”

“Of course you are. What happened?”

“I was washing my hands when I heard the little weasel was insulting the girl. And then there was a scream: as far as I understood, he tried to slap her, but that Irishman stood up for the brunette. I did get here in time to prevent a fight, and not let the redhead beat the drunk bastard. What do these Irish people eat to grow to such a size?”

“Wait, Magnus. Did you intervene to prevent the beating of the jerk who abused the girl?”

“It doesn’t matter what the man did and how bad he was; he must not be beaten, it is against the law. The Irishman could go to jail for grievous bodily harm and ruin his future. The rat bastard could become disabled. So yes, I prevented the crime. You have been living for a long time, Alexander, should I tell you about the lynching? Any criminal is, above all, a person, and he has the right to a fair trial and penalty that only a court of law can determine. Doesn’t it work that way in your world?”

“You won’t like my world, Magnus. It is unfair and cruel, especially to people like you.”

“To the mundane?”

“To people who believe in justice for everyone, in friendship and equality, that there is good in every person, to those who are ready to defend the real asshole, only cause it’s the right thing to do. In a word, to fools.”

So many offensive words are on the tip of Bane’s tongue, but when he looks into the vampire’s eyes, he can only reach out and touch the cheek lightly with his fingers:

“I’m sorry you have to live in such a world.”

Alec recoils as if the detective has slapped him in the face, and Magnus abruptly takes his hand away, clenching it into a fist: the last thing he could do is to have pity for the seven-hundred-year-old vampire.

“We’ll be late,” Lightwood says coldly and leaves, without even turning his head to check the detective follows him. But Bane stands still and can’t move forward, cursing himself for his impertinence. Only fifteen seconds passed and Alec has already disappeared into the crowd. Magnus groans with grief, what an idiot he is. It’s good for him to know the address. Step; and a cool palm squeezes his hand. Bane stares blankly at the vampire, who literally has emerged from the void. The ancient pulls him along, resenting the mundane slowness as if nothing had happened. Alexander almost stuffs him in a taxi and then gives the address to the driver.

The detective gets out of the car, knowing that there is still a long distance to the appointed place, so he involuntarily speeds up the pace so as not to keep Alec waiting. He approaches the parking lot and freezes when he sees an ancient sitting on the hood of one of the cars.

“I don’t bite, Bane,” the vampire taunts him.

“I’m not sure, I remember, I owe you a treat,” Magnus joins the game and comes closer.

Lightwood is now lower than him, so it’s a good opportunity to look down on the vampire.

“Speaking of meal, doesn’t it seem to you that this is a terrible place for the demon to attack,” the ancient still doesn't raise his head, examining the toes of his shoes.

“A terrible place for the demon means a good place for us. According to our calculations, this parking lot is exactly the place where he will attack. It’s ten o’clock in the evening, so we’ve got an hour, give or take ten minutes. Can you tell how we are going to kill him?”

Alec raises his head with a wicked smile on his lips and looks at the detective:

“There is no "we", Magnus, there is only me. You won’t even come close to him, and you’ll promise me it now because otherwise, I’ll bind you.”

“And if you need help?”

The vampire by one fast imperceptible movement puts his long fingers around the knot of a tie, and pull it, forcing the detective to bend so that dark brown eyes are level with the hazel ones.

“Don’t ever have pity on me. That’s the first. If I forbid you to do anything, you do not do this. That’s the second. To think that I may need help in the battle with the demon is the most stupid thought in the world. That’s the third. Is that clear?”

“Anyone might need some help regardless of his abilities. That’s the first. The ban must be justified, then I obey it. That’s the second. Compassion and pity cannot offend a person if the one who regrets sincerely empathizes with the other. That’s the third. And there is something more. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“And you never give up, do you, Bane?”

“I’m surprised you’re not used to it yet. And finally, let go of my tie. I had stewed over books in the library for almost twelve hours so that my back crooked like a question mark. And this posture doesn't make things get better.”

The vampire slowly strokes the neat tie knot, without taking his eyes off the Bane’s face, as if he is deciding what to do next. And then they both hear a simple melody from Alec’s pocket. Bane instantly shakes off the dark spell and raised his eyebrows with surprise, vaguely remembering that he had not taken his phone from Lightwood. A disgruntled Alec’s sigh and Magnus can straighten up again, blissfully stretching while the ancient takes out his phone. The unknown number doesn’t frighten the detective at all, and he has his mind set on the conversation with a client, hastily moving away to a safe, from his point of view, distance from the sharp hearing of the vampire. Alexander is carelessly looking at the sky and struggling not to smile cause one minor misstep is enough for this cautious mundane. Magnus doesn’t have time to greet the stranger, as a familiar hoarse voice comes through the speaker:

“Hi, the hottest and sexiest math teacher.”

Bane freezes and cannot speak a word, so he doesn’t notice the widened eyes of the vampire, who immediately returns to the meditative contemplation of the night sky.

“Richard?”

“You remembered my voice, it pleases me, but I’m not in your contacts, and it makes me upset. I want to invite you to lunch tomorrow, say, twelve o’clock if you don't have classes at the university.”

Fuck the sky, Alec openly stares at the detective who is slightly taken aback and now is rubbing his forehead with his fingers helplessly, as if he is really going to meet with his annoying interlocutor.

“No, I have no classes tomorrow at this time. Not sure about lunch, I have a lot to do tomorrow. Can I just meet you out front and give you the book?” the detective suggests, but that’s not good enough for Richard.

“Then dinner. Or even dinner, turning into breakfast, if you feel the same. I’m sure you won’t regret it. Remember: hot and sweet. Come on, pretty boy.”

“Let me think. Damn, I completely forgot to tell you: the only thing I need was the book, so if you want me to return it back, you’d better agree to meet with me. Tomorrow I will be waiting for you at twelve out front. It will be better for you to come in time.”

“You could tell me you have a boyfriend, and not tell me to go to screw using such flowery eloquence.”

“I could if I had it.”

“Then why not?”

“Because you are beautiful, smart, arrogant and self-confident, perhaps a good lover.”

“Where is the logic?”

“You need to do more math, honey. What’s use is dating a person who is so similar to me but inferior to me in every way? I’m not in the habit to jerk off to me. See you tomorrow, Richard.”

Bane turns off and covers his eyes tiredly: it’s not in his rules to be insolent, but this pushy guy just pisses him off.

“It was cruel, Magnus, but on the other hand, the guy is so persistent, so he deserved it,” the vampire says, coming close to the detective.

“I think I went too far this time: the boy didn’t deserve to be treated like that, he helped me, and I blew him off.”

“Help is not an excuse for his importunity.”

But Magnus only shakes his head tiredly, considering he was completely wrong. Two hands close around his shoulders and turn his back on the vampire. Cool palms slightly press on the skin and then rubs the shoulders, that aching with tension, each time pushes harder and harder. Ancient massages the base of a strong neck with special care. His fingers lift almost to the edge of the hair. And then the knuckles of the fist follow the flow of the shoulders, and gradually get down to the shoulder blades. This is not enough for Alec, so, he slightly presses on the muscles near the spine, and makes the detective bend with a bones crack.

“Better?” Lightwood asks and gives a mocking glance at Bane who has got soft. The ancient waits for an answer but gets only a hugely pleasing humming.

“Focus, Magnus, we have only half an hour before a possible attack,” Alec is trying to cheer up his partner, but he is not very good at it.

“I am a tired jelly, I want a hot shower and a warm bed,” Magnus whines, stretching his neck and arms in a hopeless attempt to stay awake.

“We’ll kill the demon, and then you will sleep. Tomorrow we will find the warlock, and you will be free.”

“So we’re going to kill him together?” the private detective lights up, and the vampire rolls his eyes at him.

“Wow, and it turns out, you are such a bloodthirsty little monster. Just look at it how you perked up! Have it your way. I’ll wait for he takes physical form, and then rip his head off. Your job is to get you out of the way. It’s perfect to strike while he is drinking blood, but I doubt you allow me to do this, so take the chance so that no one will be hurt.”

“Thank you for agreeing to take risks for the sake of people.”

“What was I supposed to do? My partner is the most humane killer of demons.”

They are sitting on the hood of someone’s car, occasionally exchanging a couple of meaningless phrases. Alexander sneaks a look at Magnus, noticing he is tense, calm and focused; excitement and uncertainty are completely eliminated. Five hours have passed, and it becomes obvious to both of them that there will be no attack today.

“Today the demon is resting, let’s go home,” the vampire finally offers, but the detective can’t just walk away.

“Maybe we can stay here till dawn in case he suddenly decides to change the time and kill at the end of the night.”

“Just admit you want to watch the sunrise together. There is no need for you to look for an excuse,” the ancient jokes.

“Don't flatter yourself so much, my dear. I remember that your relations with the sun are not the warmest one. Go, Alexander, you’re right about the demon, but I can’t leave, so I’ll stay here a little longer. Meet me tomorrow, or today.”

“Where did you get that stubborn nature from?” the ancient asks and then throws his head back. Bane doesn't answer but smiles to his partner.

There is a little less than three hours before sunrise, and Alec really doesn’t like the possibility of sitting all this time as the previous five hours, so he sharply takes off, leaving his partner alone in the night darkness.

Magnus isn’t even moving when Lightwood quickly disappears from his view, the detective is used to work alone. But after fifteen minutes, he spots a dark figure at the far end of the parking lot. A second is enough for the ex-officer to roll down from the car hood, swiftly, but quietly. Magnus is hiding behind the car with the taser in his hand and waiting for the stranger to be far enough to shoot.

“If you shoot me with your taser I will eat you. Knowing me, you should understand that this is not just a threat,” the ancient frankly mocks Bane who is peeking out behind the car and keeping his fingers on the trigger.

“What is the name of the club where we met?” Magnus is still standing behind the car, but his taser points straight at the vampire’s chest.

“Scum. Did I pass the test?”

“Yes. Why did you come back, and what is in your hands?”

“Coffee and donuts.”

“Do you really think all cops like them?”

“What about you?”

“Honestly, I adore donuts.”

“Then join, let’s watch the dawn together.”

The predawn darkness is gradually dissipating, and more and more people begin to appear on the streets. The sun is only getting ready to appear beyond the horizon, but Bane gets nervous so this is already visible to the eye. And Alexander decides not to tempt fate.

“Goodnight, Magnus. Tonight, I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance to the university. Stall the librarian by any means.”

The detective only nods, watching how the leaden sky begins to turn pink, and then looks at the ancient.

“I have time,” Alec answers the silent question, and a moment later dissolves into the gray shadows of the buildings.

Magnus sees the sun chasing away the darkness of night and turned his face to the gentle sunlight. He, who so rarely gets up before eleven, enjoys fully the beautiful sight before him, carefully saving every moment of this unusual morning in his memory.  


*Quote from the movie "Some Like It Hot", a reference to the final scene.


	10. Chapter 10

10

“Shower and bed, shower and bed”, this is the mantra Bane repeats to himself as he is riding home in a taxi, and an elderly taxi driver smiles knowingly, looking at the handsome but tired man in the mirror. A joyful moan comes out of Magnus’s mouth when he crosses the threshold of his apartment and rushes into the bathroom. There are only a few steps left to the first point of his short wish list, but a simple melody is heard from the pocket of the jeans, causing the outburst of anger.

“I won’t be fuckin’ with you, Richard,” Bane gets mad, “we’ll just meet for the last time.”

“Magnus, what the hell,” Marino asks. “Who is Richard? Is he blackmailing you? Is he your new client? Why didn’t you call yesterday? What happened to you?”

It seems the officer has found a true cornucopia of questions, so the detective bangs his head against the wall, realizing how he failed so spectacularly.

“Magnus, should I come? Where are you now?”

“I’m at home. I’m fine. You don’t have to come. I’m just very tired cause I haven’t slept all night,” Bane is racing to calm his friend, but Mike is not going to give up so quickly.

“Richard, did you spend the whole night with him?”

“No, I was with Alec,” Magnus says tiredly, and then slaps his forehead with all his strength.

“With Alec,” Marino hisses venomously and Magnus gets nasty goosebumps on his back, “what were you doing together all night long?”

A herd of thoughts gallops through the plains of the excited brain: “We planned to break into the university library, then he introduced me to the contents of his fridge; dinner at an Italian restaurant, fight and the night in the parking lot. Oh, yes, massage and coffee with donuts. And we saw dawn together, were close to this, but he had to leave otherwise the sun would turn him into a heap of ashes, or what else is happening with vampires nowadays.”

“Paperwork,” Bane says calmly, but Mike doesn't satisfy with this answer.

“All night long?”

“I’ll get to the department in an hour, Mike. You should conduct the interview with all the properties inherent in this action. And if you still want, we can discuss yesterday’s murder. But now I need a shower.” 

The shower doesn’t help, and the detective asks for forgiveness his stomach and nervous system for liters of strong coffee he intends to pour into himself.

  
An atmosphere of gloom and long-suppressed irritation reins in the department. A tension seethes around the tables and explodes with the trills of endless calls detectives have to answer. The officers nod him when they notice their former colleague and immediately run about the business. Haggard Magnus is a perfect part of the disordered ranks of the tired cops, some of whom haven’t been home for more than a day. A quick glance out to space, and he sees exhausted Marino sitting in an armchair and staring without blinking at his hands. Bane knows very well what does this mean: his friend is stumped, and the deep feeling of the helplessness has sucked the strength out of him, and Magnus can do nothing to fix the situation.

“Mike,” the private detective quietly calls the officer, and his trembling voice betrays him. The brown-haired man raises his head and looks with dim eyes at the former partner up and down:

“You look like shit,” the cop says hoarsely, trying to smile, but all he gets is a grimace.

“You’re one to talk,” Magnus whispers, peering into the peaked face.

“His name was Killian Hughes. He worked as an engineer. He had a wife and two children, such a family guy. Last night he was jogging at the park. His wife didn’t believe me, she refused to identify his body, so his parents had to come to the morgue. I don’t know how Izzy looked into their eyes because I can’t. We have nothing: not a single progress, nor a piece of evidence or witnesses. A psychopath runs around the city, killing people and sucking blood from them, while I’m sitting here. Just one more victim, Mags, and the city would drown in a panic. Even the media have met us halfway and try not to feed the rumor mill, but it won't stay secret for long. What should I do?”

A slightly salty taste of blood and pain from a bitten lip keeps the detective on the edge, and he takes Marino’s hand. Mike is silent because his head is unusually empty, there is nothing left, not a single emotion, a scorched desert. And Magnus doesn’t say a word, because any one of them could endanger someone’s life.

“We have a witness,” a loud shout comes from the left, and Marino jumps up from his chair, going straight to Jace, who is reading the information he managed to get:

“Brian Wright was in the park yesterday, walked with a dog. According to him, at a little past eleven, the dog fell to the ground and began to whine, and then completely rushed into the depths of the park, pulling the leash out of his hands. Wright ran after the dog but managed to see a tall figure in a long dark cloak. The alleged killer was moving towards the skate park. Brian found his pet under the bench, the dog trembled and refused to go out. The cameras picked Wright up when he was entering the park at ten forty-seven, and when he was going out with the dog in his arms at eleven twenty-three. He has an alibi for the previous murders, so he is definitely not the man we’re looking for. That’s all we could find out.”

A sigh of disappointment sweeps the department: the testimony of the witness is useless, and the officers begin to depart silently. Only Jace remains motionless until Magnus comes to him.

“Good work, Chesterton,” the detective is trying to console the young cop, but some particularly brave men strongly disagree with Bane.

“Good, but worthless,” the mumbling comes from the right.

“What’s the point of his efforts, as if we don’t know that the killer was there but there’s nothing on the cameras.”

Jace looks so guiltily, and Magnus doesn’t like it at all.

“Cameras didn’t catch him cause he knew their location,” Magnus says in sudden excitement, “and if you want to find out the location, you need to go to the park and look for it. Security footage is stored a month.”

“Great offer, Bane. To watch the whole month of footage from all cameras. And how do we recognize him? I don’t think that this dude always wears a raincoat, otherwise he would have been noticed before.”

“A man who is finding out where the cameras are located won’t be watching his steps and the road. You’d better start with the cameras near the crime scene. But, of course, if you have better ideas or a witness with a camera who had filmed everything in detail and had managed to get an interview, then we will listen carefully to you. Skate park isn’t empty even late at night, talk to skaters, they made it their hangout, someone could see something,” Magnus feels awful forcing his former colleagues to look for a non-existent person, but that’s all he can do for Marino and Jace now. And if Alexander kills the demon, then maybe the cops will breathe a sigh of relief, and the lie will become less nauseating. 

While a private detective is suffering from a guilty conscience, Mike with Ramirez, who looks too closely at his friend from time to time, sends cops for archives and to skaters. The department is buzzing with excitement, so none of the policemen notice how Bane comes to Johnny Boy and checks the robbery cases again, looking extremely puzzled.

“Have you found what was stolen from your new client?” Sanchez, who has already given orders, is unobtrusively interested. “Or you want to help us with the thefts too?”

“If you only knew how useless I am. Tell me, have you ever trusted a stranger too far, hiding the truth from people close to you just because you are worried about them, and also because you promised.”

“So Marino is right. You know who the killer is. Magnus, that’s a game changer, you can’t hide such information. The cameras are a false trail, aren’t they? We won’t find him, right? What happened? This stranger, is he threatening you? We’ll figure it out, just tell us what you know,” Ramirez almost pleads, looking into the guilty brown eyes. “Come on, handsome, you always made the right decisions, do it now.” 

“I can’t, Sanchez, but tomorrow I will have a list of people. Can you search for it in the NYPD database? Perhaps one of them might be involved in the murders.”

“I can, but you will have to explain everything, even if this is not exactly legal. I’ll back you up all the way.”

“Almost like old times...”

“Like the good old days. The captain will be here soon, and she’d better not see you at the department. Go Magnus and be careful.”

Bane leaves quietly, nodding to the chipper Marino and confident Jace one last time.

There is still a few hours before meeting with Richard, and in a good way, he should go to bed, but dull pain has firmly settled in his head, and a sense of guilt is biting eagerly into his heart. So Bane calls Clary and makes an appointment with her to refuse from the investigation and return the money.

The meeting is going remarkably well: Magnus talks about how his investigation hit a dead end, and Clarissa doesn't even try to convince the detective.

Once on the street, Bane allows himself to take a deep breath: they say it should be a load off the mind but it seems to the detective now his mind has one more load. How many loads are waiting for him?

“Magnus,” slender fingers grasp the forearm tightly, but he cannot turn to look in the eyes of the red-haired girl again.

“Magnus,” Clarissa calls him one more time, and then takes a few steps and appears right in front of him. “I know you can’t tell the truth. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“No one else will die, Clary. I will try my best, I promise.”

“I believe in you,” the girl whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging the confused man. “I believe,” she repeats, innocently kissing his cheek, and then gently wipes the lipstick off with her thumb.

A great amount of different loads doesn’t disappear, but Magnus feels strong again, and he approaches the university with a calm heart and a cold head. Richard can be seen from afar, he is literally surrounded by girls and guys who look at him like he’s the new sun. The student is enjoying everyone’s attention until he notices Magnus standing alone under a tree. The persistent pretty boy blatantly hugs the students standing nearby and defiantly looks at Bane, inviting the detective to join the retinue of admirers. A short exhale, and a short note with apologies is already enclosed in the fateful book, and Magnus confidently goes to the main star of the university. Bane easily paves his way to Richard through the accumulated students until he is right in front of the swarthy brunette.

“Thanks for the help,” Magnus nods, returning the book, and then turns and walks away, followed by puzzled looks. Richard exhales angrily behind him: another provocation has failed.

The librarian, an elderly gray-haired woman, smiles warmly at the detective whom she remembers from yesterday.

“Good afternoon, Michael,” she says, reminding Magnus of his fake ID.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks for asking. You can call me Paige. What will you take today?”

“Maybe you will advise? I am interested in Christian occult literature.”

The librarian looks at Bane disapprovingly and then coldly informs him:

“I’m a Christian, Michael, and I condemn men to have such interests. I never think that such a nice young man would be fond of all this stuff.”

“You misunderstood me, ma’am. Books, as it was before, are needed for my research, nothing more. I didn't mean to offend you. But, let me ask you a question, Paige. Why are you so strongly opposed to such literature?”

“Nothing like that, Michael, I’m just one of those happy people whom the Lord has granted his grace to. And books with this content confuse immature minds, making them wander away from God.”

Magnus shudders: he was always scared by the religious fanatics, and now he will have to gain the trust of one of them.

“Could you tell me more?”

“I would love to, but later, Michael. Now I have to work, and you need to prepare for the research, but if your interest doesn’t fade, then I’ll talk with great pleasure.”

The librarian has stars in her eyes all day, while Magnus is working the case. He constantly compares the data and draws diagrams only he could understand, not forgetting to look at the clock from time to time. The library runs until seven in the evening, sunset will be at six fifty-five. Alexander needs ten minutes to get to the university. By half-past six, there is only Magnus in the library, and he feels a tugging at his heart: forty minutes before the vampire arrived. The detective begins to slowly gather his things, buying time when he is saved by an elderly man who came to return a whole stack of books. Ten minutes, another sneak peek at the watch: six forty-two. Books are handed over and put in place: six forty-eight. They sit down at one table, and the woman begins her story:

“The only joy has been left in my life is my granddaughter, but God sent us the ordeal: a serious illness that doctors could not cure. These tormentors could only throw up their hands: “Your girl will never be able to read, write, or speak. The level of her development will remain at the level of a two-year-old child.” We couldn’t even baptize her. Her mother left us, cause she didn’t accept her fate. So I took custody of my beautiful Deborah and prayed every day for a miracle. My girl grew strong and beautiful, she barely talked, but she understood everything. We saved up money and this spring went to Strasbourg to offer prayers on the Whit Monday at Strasbourg Cathedral. How many people were there, so many children and adults, that wanted to be baptized. It was one enormous church service, and it seems to me, the grace of God descended on all true believers there. Just at the one moment, endless happiness flooded my heart, and I realized that my prayers were answered. After this day my Deborah recovered. She began to talk, began to read. Years of scientists’ treatment have turned up nothing. Only God could help us. And now my girl is helping me in the library. Isn’t that a real miracle, Michael?” 

“What did the doctors say? How did they explain your granddaughter’s sudden recovery?”

“We were no longer visiting these quacks, all they can do is wag their tongues. It’s all in God’s hands, Michael. Therefore, don’t get carried away by demonic creatures. They are always on the evil side and are fighting for the darkness; all they want is to devour your soul, so that it burns later in the fires of hell, writhing in the endless agony without hope of salvation. The devil creatures seduce with their beauty and strength, but do not believe them: lies are their language, and deceit is their weapons. Remember. When anyone hears the word about the kingdom and doesn’t understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in his heart. This is the one sown along the path.* Promise me.”

Her wrinkled hand grabs Magnus’s fingers and her pale green eyes burning with religious ecstasy glare at Bane’s face as he is frantically trying to come up with an answer.

“Promise!” the trembling old voice demands, and the detective recovers all his self-possession so as not to pull his hand away. Magnus smiles warmly at the librarian and his swarthy palm covers the old one:

“Thank you for taking care of me, ma’am. I appreciate everything you’ve told me. I will be very careful, and I won’t let the appearance of anyone to deceive my eyes.”

Paige breathes a sigh of relief and pats gently on the cheek of the tense detective and then gives a puzzled look over his shoulder.

“Do you need something, young man?” the librarian asks sharply as Bane takes a breath.

“I’ve been waiting for my friend, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you,” Alexander’s voice is full of respect and sympathy, so Paige nods approvingly and turns her eyes back to Magnus who is trying to put the woman out of suspense.

“Forgive me, ma’am. I completely forgot that my friend is waiting for me. But it’s your fault, too. The story you told me is incredible. We are writing this work together, so I and Christian both are grateful for your help.”

The ancient slips out behind Bane and looks straight into the eyes of the old librarian.

“Thank you,” the vampire drawls while the darkness is filling his eyes. It’s the first time Magnus can see how the compulsion works, so he is afraid even breathe cause it could disrupt the process. Alec gives orders in a completely unemotional voice, and the woman obeys. Without hesitation, she opens a database and finds the names of those who took this book. The detective quickly takes the picture of the shortlist, and the vampire forces Page to go back.

“You’re welcome,” the librarian smiles, regaining consciousness. “If you have any questions you may come right back. Goodbye, boys.” 

“Goodbye, ma’am. And thanks for the help and for the conversation,” Bane says, trying to distinguish the possible consequences of the compulsion. But all he can see is Paige’s serene face. The five previous minutes had been erased from her memory without a trace.

Lightwood is anxiously studying the face of his partner as they walk to the parking lot. Nothing can be understood with the face reading, but vampire senses the detective saw something that had shaken him to the core, as the jovial and curious mundane didn’t utter a single word, having been lost in thoughts. They sit down again on the hood of the car and the ancient, finally, says:

“Ask, Magnus. I will answer as I can possibly be.”

“I’m sorry,” Bane looks at the vampire as if he has just realized he isn’t alone.

“What do you want to know about the compulsion?”

“Nothing, I’ve got a general idea of the process. I felt it on myself. I wasn’t thinking about that. I can’t get this story, Paige told me out of my mind, her words about demonic creatures. You know, just a few days before I would be a little amused by her religiosity. But look at me now: I’m going to kill a demon with a vampire in a parking lot. We have never talked about this, Alexander, but answer me: does God exist?”

“For me, the answer is yes, but I’ve never seen him or the angels. Only demons. After all, you were an atheist, it is probably difficult when the familiar view of the worldview has broken.” 

“I’m still an atheist now, and to be honest, I’m not going to change my scientific principles in the near future. If there is something in this world that does not fit into the familiar sight, this does not mean that my world doesn’t exist, or that it is described incorrectly. Perhaps I just don’t know much about this phenomenon, but later I’ll definitely be able to explain it from the rational point of view. Your existence and the existence of demons cannot disprove logic, mathematics, physics, biology, and philosophy, as well as hundreds of other sciences. Eventually, we can extend the limit of applicability by introducing additional corrections to the equations we know.” 

“Look, this is the new Einstein of the Shadow World. Modesty won’t be the reason for your death ever. And you confused me a little. Didn’t you say that now you are not laughing at her religiosity?”

“It’s a little different. Her frame of reference is based on blind faith; my conclusions are based on logical reasoning. She believes in the collection of unverified Jewish tales, and I saw your vampire nature, I have circumstantial evidence of the demon’s existence. She unconditionally believes in God, and I’m still not sure you are not my hallucination. She divides the world into white and black, considering that origin determines character. I agree to kill the demon only because you told me that we would destroy his physical body and drive him out of the earth without damaging his essence.”

“Stop, Magnus. Are you worried about the demon? Answer me. If you knew that your actions would end the demon’s existence forever, would you not kill him?”

“I had to kill people, Alexander. And I don’t regret it. It was the right choice. If I could go back in time, I would do exactly the same. But if there is even the slightest opportunity to save a life, I will use it. My father taught me this. The criminal, first of all, is a person. I do not know who the demons are. But I also do not know who vampires or warlocks are too. In this Shadow World, they are all equal to me. Sorry, but I can’t blindly believe you and accept the undeniable truth that all demons are murderers. Although I don’t exclude the possibility that you are right. To answer your question: if the demon threatens another person, I will kill him, I won’t hesitate. But I’m not likely to kill a demon, just because he is a demon. This is discrimination, and I have faced neglect only because of race and orientation so often in my life, so I can’t relate to another being, human or not, like that.”

“This world has changed: and either it will die from its excessive tolerance, or it will become a perfect community.”

“Wait and see which of us was right.”

  
The next three hours pass in comfortable silence: Magnus asks nothing, texting with Anna, with Katarina, and with Isabelle. At around eleven o’clock, Bane puts his phone on silent and centers himself. The vampire next to him did not move for all three hours, but now his eyes are slightly opened, betraying his interest and tension.

“Three: two men and a woman. They are going to the parking lot. This is bad. They will be here in three minutes. What should we do?”

“The demon has never killed a woman before: take one, and I will take another. Let’s hope that victimology is correct and the woman is safe.”

“The shorter man has the car in the second row on the left, the woman left her car in the center row, closer to the end. The tall guy left the car at the far right. Hell, let’s hope we're lucky and the demon is targeting the tall one. Follow the shorter man. Spread out. And, Magnus, be careful.”

The short man and woman had already reached the central row of the parking lot, while the tall brown-haired man at full speed hurries to the car left at the end of the far-right row. Alexander mentally rushes the awkward young man, but he is looking for keys for a painfully long time as if he does it on purpose, drops the keys, curses to himself, and then begins to type a message. The vampire’s sensitive ear hears the woman says goodbye to her friend and goes to the car, and after forty seconds a cheerful purr of the engine is heard, and a small yellow car slowly leaves the parking lot. Two, fifty-fifty odds, the vampire is waiting, and the clock hand inexorably passes the eleven o’clock mark. The ancient only hopes that Magnus’s ward is quicker and has already got into the car to leave. But the thud of the body against the metal and the subsequent heart-rending howl of the alarm finally makes the whole thing clear. After a second, Lightwood sees the demon trying to pull the taser electrodes out with jerky movements, the body of a short man is lying near his car, and Magnus is groaning near the screaming car with a dented side. The devil incarnate freezes when it understands who its new adversary is, and then with an awkward movement throws its body into the wall, leaving a familiar pentagram and a piece of the cloak in the tenacious hands of the vampire. Anger overwhelms the ancient, who has missed the demon, but time is running out, the high brown-haired man is to the rescue, so Lightwood sits near his partner, completely forgetting about another mundane.

“Does it hurt, Magnus?” long fingers run over arms and legs, try to check the injuries, but falter, stopped by a swarthy hand.

“Hide,” Bane demands, and Alec obeys.

The loud cry of the detective draws the attention of a tall minion of fortune, who looks with round eyes at Magnus, then stares at his acquaintance and starts screaming so that Lightwood is ready not to give a damn about all his secrecy in order to go out and shake this slow man.

“It’s all right,” Bane’s voice is clear, calm, subduing, “your friend is alive, just off, as you can see, I’m not at my best either, so it’s up to you. Call the police, ask Michael Marino or Sanchez Ramirez. Tell them where you are. Say that you need medical assistance. Do not forget to mention your name, the name of a friend and mine. My name is Magnus Bane, nice to meet you, by the way. Can you do this?”

The brown-haired man nods and walks away to his friend to follow the instructions given to him, and the detective at that time closes his eyes and quietly calls his partner:

“Alec, can you hear me? Of course, you do, you’re a vampire. The police will be here in five minutes. I’ll have to tell them everything, including the pentagrams. I’ll try to promote the theory of ritual killing, it is not far from the truth. If I understood the order correctly, then the next murder will happen tomorrow. There will be police, so you will have a hard time. You should get some help, please. Distract the police, and then deal with this demon. I’ll try not to give out a lot of information, but this time I will not be able to get away with it. If I can convince the cops I’ll check the names we have, so keep in touch. You might have time to intercept the warlock before he performs the ritual. But you have this day only. I’ll send you a list of names in a minute, try to run them through your channels. Now go away, they should not see you.”

Bane stops to catch his breath. A quiet rustle is heard to the left of the brown-haired man, who shudders and stares intently into the emptiness in front of him. Cool fingers pat affectionately the pale detective’s cheek and a soft voice whispers gently:

“Take care of yourself. We’ll meet again, Magnus. Thank you.”

When the frightened man looks at Magnus again, his jaw drops. The battered detective sits with his eyes closed and smiles, like a child who received a cherished Christmas present.

The brown-haired man comes to his senses only when the sirens of police cars are wailing. Bane opens his eyes, preparing for a long explanation. But neither the pain in broken ribs, nor the head buzzing from lack of sleep, nor the upcoming complicated conversation can erase the smile from his face.

*Matthew 13:19


End file.
